


Better To Burn Than To Fade Away

by Ren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Barebacking, Broom Racer Harry Potter, Broomstick Racing, Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex mentions, Feelings, H/D Career Fair 2017, HP: EWE, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Love/Hate, M/M, Making Out, Minor Injuries, Organiser Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Harry Potter, Rimming, Romance, acceptance of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win.Draco Malfoy is one of the organisers of the London-Nome. The race is infamous for its accidents, but Draco is adamant that this year nothing will go wrong. However, between bad weather and international problems en route, the biggest trouble is he can't stop running into Potter.





	Better To Burn Than To Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt [#79](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LiaSm8GWFLsDD8KUOZmlTSHmhIMyFZzdqYNfB-25Khk/edit).
> 
> I would like to thank the mods for their patience and for running the fest, one day I will deliver my fics on time! Also thank you Evy for being the best beta ever, one day I will learn how to grammar.
> 
> To whoever prompted the Iditarod race: I had never heard of it before but it was fun to do research on it. I hope you enjoy the story! For long-distance broomstick racing I pulled inspiration from a variety of sources, including but not limited to dog sledding, long-distance motorcycle/car races, and boat races.
> 
> I might have accidentally moved a mountain range or a couple of plains around in my description of central Asia. I'm not very good at geography. Please concentrate on the two idiots and not on my attempts at describing geography.

"An epic adventure spanning over ten thousand miles! Eight days! A hundred brave racers!" The presenter's magically amplified voice boomed across the stadium. "All the way across Europe and Asia, to the snowy wastelands of Alaska! Welcome to the New London-Nome!"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the bombastic speech. The race could barely still be called the London-Nome, not with all those new rules and changes in the route. Instead of starting from a field near London, they had been crammed into a Quidditch stadium in the Welsh moors. It was a tight fit, with a large platform occupying most of the field and over a hundred people between racers and staff members crammed around it.

"The best long-distance racers from all over the world! Wish good luck to all those brave contestants!"

A cold wet wind picked up, snapping the racers' capes around their shoulders, but Harry barely noticed it. He was starting to feel the usual pre-race excitement in the pit of his stomach.

Finally the speech came to a conclusion amidst applause and cheers. Harry and the others shuffled haphazardly to one side while a group of race officials in matching sky blue robes levitated the platform away from the field.

With that obstacle removed, there was enough space for everyone to spread out evenly. Harry found his starting mark and put down his broomstick, letting it hover next to him while the officials checked that everyone was in position. The broomstick was a Firebolt III – a thing of beauty, a one-of-a-kind prototype he'd gotten personally from the creators. He'd had it for a little over a month, but already he was in love with its speed and manoeuvrability. 

Three sharp whistle blows prompted the racers to mount their brooms. Harry lowered his goggles, blinking as the world came into focus again, then put up his hood. Two more whistle blows came just as the first drops of rain hit the ground. Harry took a long, measured breath. A hushed silence fell on the crowd, broken only by the rain and the wind howling between the stands. Finally, a single long whistle sounded, and ninety-seven racers kicked the ground and rocketed skyward.

Harry resisted the urge to whoop as the ground disappeared below at a dizzying speed. In a few seconds he went from zero to a hundred miles per hour, then two hundred. By the time he turned to look back, the stadium had already disappeared over the horizon. He grinned despite the wind tugging painfully at his face. He was going to miss this.

\---

"That went well. _Daily Prophet_ front-page worthy." 

Draco looked up from the map in front of him as Pansy perched on a corner of the cluttered desk. He frowned. "Are they going to complain about the changes in the rules again?"

"They're not." Pansy's tone was likely meant to be reassuring, but Draco just narrowed his eyes, suspicious. It was her press liaison tone, the same one she used to sugar coat their most unpopular official statements. "They've milked that story for all it's worth, but readers are getting tired of it."

Draco snorted. "In my experience, the _Prophet_ never grows tired of stirring up outrage. It's easier than proper journalist work and it sells more papers."

"That might be." Pansy pretended to examine her nails with great interest. They were painted gold, to match the golden sash over her robes. "But not if I give them something else to write about. Something _better_."

"Such as?"

She shot him a look of triumph. "Some juicy gossip about their favourite celebrity."

Draco groaned. He slumped forward against the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you're talking about what's-his-name, the idiot presenter you insisted on hiring."

Pansy's heavily rimmed eyes widened in mock-outrage. "Piers Starlight is a WWN celebrity!"

"Piers Starlight has a stupid name and his speech was a disgrace."

"True," Pansy admitted. "But the crowd loved it. Anyway, no. You know I was talking about your childhood nemesis."

Draco gave her a look that he hoped conveyed annoyance and disgust at the same time. He'd known when he'd taken the job that Potter would enter the race. There was no way he wouldn't. Potter had won everything else except for the London-Nome, and that was only because the race hadn't been run for over a decade.

It wasn't a big deal, Draco told himself, even as he gripped the edges of the desk hard enough that his fingers went white. There were seventeen checkpoints between the start and finish line. He just had to make sure that he and Potter were never at the same checkpoint at the same time, and Potter would never even know that he was one of the organisers. If only Pansy would stop mentioning him all the time…

"Having him in the race is the best thing that could have happened to us," Pansy was saying. "It's literally free publicity. The _Prophet_ will print anything if it's about Potter."

"You mentioned something about gossip?" Draco murmured. He was striving for casual, but ended up sounding strained and weird. It had to be something about his newest fling. Maybe more speculation about him and the Weasley girl. _Or maybe…_ Draco gripped the desk even tighter, hoping Pansy wouldn't notice.

She didn't. Instead, she gave Draco a smug smile, like the Kneazle who got the cream. "I've heard that he's going to retire after this race."

"He's not!" The words came out unbidden. Pansy stared at him, startled by the sudden outburst, but Draco was too surprised to care. "There is no way he'll retire. Potter loves the spotlight too much."

Pansy shrugged. "I'm just telling you what I heard from my sources."

"No way he'll retire," Draco muttered, sullen, staring at the wall of the office.

"What's gotten into you now? I thought you'd be happy to know he's quitting! Never mind," she added before Draco could answer. "You're right, I don't really have a source for this. It's just some speculation I overheard earlier – there might be nothing to it."

"Of course there isn't." Draco sank back in his chair and willed his fingers to unclench. What _had_ gotten into him, anyway? "But the _Prophet_ will print it even if it's a lie."

Pansy did a good impression of shocked outrage, Draco would give her that. "I would _never_ lie to the press! I'd simply say I heard some gossip and pass it on. If they don't check their sources before going to print, that's on them."

They wouldn't check. They never did.

"At least if they're busy with made-up scoops about Potter, they'll stop writing scathing articles about how we're ruining the race with our new rules. Good job, Pansy."

She smirked. "I told you I'd be the perfect press liaison."

It was true that she was good at her job and she could be quite charming when she wanted to, but Draco saw no need to inflate her already swollen opinion of herself. Instead, he bent his head over the map spread all over the desk and went back to his actual job.

The map was a very detailed representation of western Europe, with thick black borders between the countries and various geographical features rendered in coloured ink. Ninety-seven tiny golden triangles, one for each of the racers, were very slowly making their way eastward.

Draco traced the river Rhine with his index finger. "They're flying over Belgium now. A few pulled ahead and are crossing into Germany, but the storm slowed them down considerably and they're still several miles away from the checkpoint." He pointed to the middle of the map, where a mass of grey lines swirled and shifted.

Pansy, who was still perched on the edge of the desk, leaned closer to have a better look and then muttered something very unladylike under her breath. "The weather forecast did not look like that. Bloody useless Meteowizards…"

"There are contingencies for bad weather." Draco's checklist was buried under the map but he didn't need it, he had only written it out because he liked to see everything lined up in an orderly fashion. All the plans for the race were firmly committed to his memory. "I've already contacted the teams of backup race officials, they might be needed if we have to keep a checkpoint open longer to wait on stragglers. I've also issued a yellow warning to all checkpoints hit by the storm."

"Mandatory broomstick checks for all racers?" Pansy lifted an eyebrow. "They won't like that, it'll slow them down."

"Just for a few minutes." Maybe, if he repeated it often enough, he'd believe it himself. He'd debated about issuing the order for quite a long time, but had eventually decided better safe than sorry. He could only hope that both the participants and the public would see it that way. "We can't risk someone flying with soggy twigs, what if they lose altitude over a Muggle city?"

Pansy seemed unconvinced, but she simply shrugged. "It's your call." Not precisely approval, but at least she wasn't trying to change his mind either. "If that's the situation, I'd better head off to checkpoint two and start setting everything up. The way things are going, you'll be stuck at checkpoint one all night long."

Draco looked at the two bright spots on the map: one in Germany, the other one in Poland. He absently measured the distance with his fingers even though he knew each mile of the race course. "The wind is blowing straight from the east. It'll be slow going, especially if they tire themselves out by fighting it head on."

"Just as long as Potter doesn't fall behind. We need the _Prophet_ to keep writing about him and the race."

"Flying a broomstick is the only talent he has," Draco replied, wrinkling his nose. "I've no doubt he'll be in the lead."

That was exactly why Draco had assigned himself to the cleanup crew, closing out checkpoints long after Potter crossed them.

"Right, I better get on." Pansy jumped down from the desk and her heels clacked on the stone floor. "It's still early but I also want to check that the special Floo Network is working properly. Imagine if we got stuck somewhere!"

"I'd rather not. I have _no_ idea how they managed in the old times. Imagine being stuck at a checkpoint for days without knowing when or if the racers will arrive…"

"No doubt the _Prophet_ would say it was better when race officials had no idea of what was going on." She pitched her voice lower and gruff. "It was traditional! All this progress is disconcerting! What will they try next, safety measures to stop racers from killing themselves?"

That got a bitter laugh out of Draco. "Racers dying in stupid ways is part of the London-Nome's heritage, don't you know?"

"Only too well. But this is the _New_ London-Nome." As Pansy stalked to the fireplace, she had to raise her voice to be heard above the hellish noise made by her heels. "Well, I'm off to Poland! You should be going too, they look like they're about to reach checkpoint one."

Draco glanced down at the map. A few golden triangles were very slowly making their way towards the first marked spot in central Germany. He didn't need to look more closely to know that one of those triangles was marked with a very tiny crimson '3'.

"You're right, it seems like I'll miss the passage of the first racers." Draco could barely suppress a smile. "What a pity."

\---

The Firebolt shook underneath him as Harry flew straight into the wind. Large rain droplets kept pelting him in the face, leaving streaks on his goggles that were immediately vanished by a spell. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the broom to one side. Soon enough the broomstick turned and he was flying with the wind coming from his two o'clock. 

Under his heavy, rainproof cape, Harry could feel himself sweating from the exertion. Flying through a storm was no joke, and flying directly against the wind was a particular kind of nightmare. Harry had tried for all of one minute before giving up: not even the Firebolt III's superior power and stability could withstand the strength of this gale, and he would have exhausted himself long before reaching the first checkpoint.

He was now flying in a wide zig-zagging pattern, changing direction every few minutes, close to the wind but not fighting it. Lightning flashed far below and he gripped the broomstick's handle as he counted the seconds in his head. He could feel the dragonhide leather scraping against ebony wood. Thunder rumbled. How many seconds had it been? Not many at all.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would stop and wait out the deluge, but races were like Quidditch matches: they didn't stop for something as insignificant as weather. He would continue, and he was sure that most of the other racers would do the same.

Even though it was only late afternoon, the small compass affixed to the broom was barely visible in the dim grey light. Harry leaned forward to peer at it. From what he could see, he was still flying in the right direction. But there was no way to know for sure without landing, so he'd have to trust his gut.

Another bolt of lightning flashed, and in the fading light Harry checked the time on the watch pinned to his cape. It was time to start his descent. By his estimate he was still a few miles away from the checkpoint but he'd rather err on the side of caution: the visibility was low enough that there was a real risk of overshooting the checkpoint, and having to double back would lose him way too much time.

As he guided the Firebolt III to a lower altitude, Harry started to notice the ground underneath. He was flying over a forest of dense fir trees, their tips swaying and bending in the wind. His stomach did a flip, knowing he was getting close. Or maybe it was just cramps since he hadn't eaten all day, having been too busy even for the energy bars he usually ate on the go.

Finally, he saw it: a tiny golden light, hovering just above the treetops in front of him, which turned into several golden lights as he approached. A large ring stood in the middle of the forest, similar to those used in Quidditch but large enough for several people to fly through. The ring and the surrounding area were lit by dozens of floating lanterns. Compared to the darkness of the storm, it was almost blinding.

Now that he was here, Harry had to make a decision. His original plan had been to fly straight until the third checkpoint in Latvia, but the storm had slowed him down considerably and he wouldn't be there before morning unless the wind dropped, which didn't seem likely. A bite to eat and a short nap would do him a world of good, and yet he disliked the idea of stopping and letting the other racers get ahead, even though they would have to do the same eventually.

He was still undecided when he realised that a large banner was flying below the ring. The fabric was stained dark with rain but it was still clearly identifiable as yellow – a foul weather alert. Harry would have to stop, then, so the race officials could check that his broomstick hadn't been damaged by the storm. Harry mentally cursed the Committee: no doubt they were the ones who had issued the alert, even though it was still early in the race and nothing could have been damaged in such a short time. Still, since he would have to stop, Harry might as well take a rest now.

Under the new and rather controversial rules introduced this year, all racers had to take three mandatory rests during the race: a twenty-four-hour long rest at any of the checkpoints, an eight-hour rest at a checkpoint in the first half of the race, and an eight-hour rest in the second half. The system was unnecessarily rigid and the rest times overlong, but Harry agreed with the rule's spirit – exhaustion was one of the main issues in intercontinental races and the cause of many accidents. 

Harry headed for the ring. Even though he didn't like the idea of resting so soon, it would be better in the long run to wait out the storm and leave in eight hours' time. Hopefully by then the wind would have died down. There was a bright flash when he flew through the ring. He spiralled in wide circles around its pole, gripping his broomstick tight to avoid being thrown against the trees by a sudden strong gust of wind.

The ring was in the middle of a clearing, which had turned into a muddy swamp in the beating rain. A large striped tent occupied most of the eastern side. As Harry touched down, a few people in sky blue robes gestured to him from under an awning. "This way for the mandatory check, please."

Harry's boots squelched in the mud. As he dismounted from the Firebolt III, he had to suppress a wince. His leg muscles were cramped after being locked in the same position for hours, and the rest of his body wasn't feeling much better. He walked stiffly towards the tent and ducked inside.

Immediately, the heat caused his goggles to become foggy. Harry took them off and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He hadn't realised it while flying, because he was used to the cold and anyway all of his concentration was on steering and navigating, but the temperature outside had dropped rather sharply and the heat was very welcome.

One of the race officials took his broomstick from Harry while he tried ineffectively to stomp out the mud from his boots.

"Potter, number 3, is that right? You have the prototype broomstick, yes?"

Harry nodded. His throat felt too scratchy to say anything and he suddenly craved something to drink.

The race official took out her wand and started passing it over the broomstick. She seemed to be in her early twenties, with a round face and a lopsided bun perched at the top of her head. "Just a quick check and you'll be up in the air in no time!"

Her face was red – either from the heat or from talking to him. Harry hoped it was the former. He was too tired to deal with fans.

Harry turned aside and squinted at his surroundings. The inside of the tent looked like a mountain lodge, with walls made of dark wooden logs. Most of the space was taken by large trestle tables, and to the side a staircase led up.

The place was mostly empty aside from a few staff members sitting in front of the large fireplace and nursing tankards of Butterbeer. Harry's pulse quickened. No other racers were here yet – he was in the lead.

Meanwhile, the race official had completed her tests. The wand glowed blue as it ran over the wood: as expected the Firebolt III was in perfect condition.

"You're clear to go, Racer Potter," she said, handing him the Firebolt.

When Harry picked up the broom, his sore muscles complained. The rain was still pouring hard over the roof and the wind howled between the trees.

Harry hesitated. "Thanks, but I'll take my first rest here."

She looked up at him, mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise. She was perhaps younger than he'd thought at first, maybe just a student taking a summer job. "But… You can't take your rest, it's just the first checkpoint…"

"I know. But I want to rest now."

At that, she blinked. "I'm not sure. I have to ask my boss."

Harry just shrugged, which caused his cape to drip all around. He really was drenched, and the spells he had on his clothes would only protect them from being soaked through; there was nothing to stop the rain from falling down his collar or to slip between his sleeves and his gloves.

While the race official rushed off to find a more senior colleague, Harry marched to the nearest empty table where he deposited the Firebolt III. His shoulder bag followed, and he massaged his stiff shoulder muscles with some relief. Then he took off his cape, which he draped over the back of a chair to dry, and his gloves.

Harry poured himself a tankard of Butterbeer, slowly and carefully because his fingers were stiff with cold, and sat on an empty armchair by the fireplace.

He was getting pleasantly drowsy and wondering about food when a pair of legs stomped up to him. One foot started tapping on the wooden floor. Harry tore his gaze away from the burning log he'd been staring at and tried to focus on the man in front of him.

"What do you mean, 'rest'? It's the first checkpoint, you can't be tired already!"

"That doesn't…" A frown. Harry stared. He could feel his pulse quicken already. To run into him here of all places, after three years… " _Malfoy_?"

"Potter." Malfoy's voice was clipped, colder than the air outside. "Hurry up and get on your broomstick, you're losing time."

"Like I said, I'm taking a rest." Harry felt rather proud of how calm his voice was, even though he felt nothing but. "Nothing in the rules says I can't. Look it up if you don't believe me, I can have eight hours–"

"I know what the rules say," Malfoy snapped. "I wrote them."

Malfoy was, he only noticed now, wearing the same sky blue uniform as the other race officials, but his had a silver sash draped over it. It said, in a fancy script, 'New London-Nome Race Committee'. Draco Malfoy _was_ the bloody committee.

If it wasn't for the constant, dull ache in his muscles, Harry would have thought this was a bad dream.

"I should have known. All those new, stupid, useless rules. That was _you_."

Malfoy gave him a look of utter disgust. Harry didn't know if the look was directed at him or at the mud he'd been tracking all over the otherwise pristine floors. Likely both. Merlin, he must look like a fright, all covered in rain and mud and sweat, while Malfoy was his usual prissy self. Harry wished he at least had his glasses, so he wouldn't look like a fool squinting at everything and trying to pretend like he wasn't half-blind.

"I'm sorry my safety measures are making it harder for you to hurt yourself in a stupid way." Malfoy sneered. "As soon as this race is over you can go back to risking your neck. Until then, I believe the phrase is 'suck it up'."

"I'm not risking anything. In fact I'm choosing to stay put instead of flying into a storm. You should be happy."

"I won't be happy about anything that involves you."

"Fine. Do as you please. I'm staying."

Harry leaned back in the armchair and propped his feet on the hearth, casually leaving two large smears of mud from his boots. He smirked up at Malfoy.

Malfoy seethed. "There's hardly any space. We weren't planning on people stopping here."

"I wasn't planning on stopping either." Harry glanced pointedly towards the open tent flap. Almost as if on cue, lightning flashed.

"Must you always be so difficult?"

"I'm not the one who's being difficult. If you don't have a bed I'll just sleep in this armchair."

Malfoy flushed. "Of course I have… Of course there are _beds_! Do you think I can't set up something as simple as this?"

"I'll have dinner too, I assume you also have food?"

Still glaring at Harry, Malfoy waved his wand and a small feast appeared on the nearest table. "Enjoy." He sounded like he'd like nothing better than for Harry to choke on it. Then he stomped off.

Harry sank against the back of the armchair and felt every single one of his muscles complain. He was getting too old for this. As far as interactions with Malfoy went, it could have gone worse, but it could have gone better too.

\---

Racer 91 didn't look much older than seventeen. Wrapped in a large orange fuzzy blanket, he whimpered as Draco fixed him with his deadliest glare. Good, Draco thought, let him be uncomfortable and afraid. Let him realise how lucky he was to be still alive. 

"Are you a complete moron?" Draco jabbed one finger towards the splintered fragments of what, until yesterday, had been a racing broom. "How could you think to fly head on through a storm on a crappy broomstick like that?"

The boy shrank inside the blanket. "It's a Twigger 500!" Even though he was trying to sound tough, his voice came out reedy and weak. "It just came out, it's the best broomstick in the market…"

"You're a fool if you thought you could fly ten thousand miles against the world's best racers on a _commercial_ model. You could have died from the cold if the rescue team hadn't found you." Draco gave him his best patronizing look. "Be thankful that they did."

Suitably chastised, the boy nodded and drank his tea in silence.

Draco had to jostle several people just to cross the room because the Poland checkpoint was crowded to its limit. The storm had only grown stronger overnight and there had been several incidents already: mostly minor damage to a few brooms that had to be fixed before their owners could be allowed to continue, a few racers getting lost, an entire group being blown off course and ending up in Switzerland. And then there had been this rich kid who took one look at Potter's bloody amped up Firebolt and was tricked into thinking he could be like him if only he had an expensive broomstick.

He was privately adding _Rule #265: no amateur racers or commercial broomsticks_ to a list of new rules for next year when Lena, one of his race officials, approached at a brisk pace.

"Check where Racer 91 is from and prepare a Portkey for him," Draco said. "I want him gone as soon as he's cleared for travel, we've got another large group coming and no space for them."

She bobbed her head up and down. "Yes, Mr Malfoy." She hesitated. "Ah…"

Draco sighed. Lena never hesitated, unless she had bad news to deliver. There had been too many of those and it was only the second day of the race. "What is it now?"

"It's Racer 3."

 _Potter_. Draco froze while his mind went through the full disaster list: lost, injured, dead in a ditch… He forced himself to focus. "What about him?"

"I don't know, the Floo Network kept frizzing out and I couldn't hear what they were saying. The people at checkpoint one, I mean. I think there's some problem involving Racer 3?"

"There are always problems when he's involved."

"They sounded really worried. Maybe you could go and have a look?"

Draco ran one hand over his face and heaved a sigh. His pocket watch told him it was a little past five in the morning. He'd been looking forward to a few uninterrupted hours of sleep before the arrival of the last group of stragglers, but apparently that was not to be.

"Fine." Only because Pansy would have his hide if he didn't – Potter was their golden advertising opportunity and they couldn't allow him to drop out after just one leg. "I'll go and see what happened. But I already know it will be a total waste of time."

He rushed through the fireplace with so much momentum that he almost faceplanted on the floor on his arrival. The first checkpoint looked just as he'd left it a few hours ago, albeit dirtier with mud and a few puddles on the floor. A couple of lads from the rescue team were napping with their heads on the table. The race officials were sitting on the stairs, talking and laughing, although they jumped up and pretended to be picking up dirty dishes when they noticed Draco.

Draco took a couple of steps in their direction, then paused and looked down at himself. He must look like a fright: his robes were rumpled and he had trouble keeping his eyes open after a sleepless night. He waved his wand over his clothes, until they straightened and fell into neat folds around him, and only then he crossed the room towards the staff.

"What's the problem now?"

Two girls and one boy stopped pretending to clean the tables and glanced at each other. Draco started tapping his foot.

"Er, we're not sure if there is a problem." The girl sounded sheepish and stared at a point above Draco's ear. "He said that he wanted to, so…"

"I don't think he could," the boy cut in. "It doesn't sound right."

"But it's not against the rules…"

Draco rolled his eyes so hard, he was sure he'd strained something. When he'd selected the race officials that would be stationed at each checkpoint, he'd picked the best applicants in each country. Unfortunately there were a lot of checkpoints and not many applicants. In some cases, he was lucky that a checkpoint was staffed at all.

"Can someone explain in a way that makes sense? Anyone?"

The three of them looked at the stairs, then at each other, then at Draco. "He's still here," one said, while another added, "Racer 3." The third shook her head: "We _told_ him it was time to go, but…"

Malfoy blinked, uncomprehending. "What do you mean, still here?" There weren't many windows, and outside it was still raining and the wind was still strong, but the light had a dim bluish quality suggesting that dawn was long past. Draco glanced at his pocket watch. "His short rest ended hours ago, he should be halfway into Poland by now!"

"We tried to wake him up, honest! But he said he was staying!"

"Unbelievable! Where's that moron now?"

Without waiting for an answer, Draco turned and stomped up the stairs. The landing upstairs only had two doors: one leading to the bathrooms and one to the dormitory. He pushed the second door so hard that it banged open against the wall.

There were several rumpled beds in the room. At first sight they were all empty, but then Draco realised that the bed nearest to the door was occupied. A familiar mop of black hair poked out from under a quilted blanket and if he listened quietly he could hear a faint snore.

Draco froze. He hadn't anticipated coming across a sleeping Potter. The surprise was so much that he would have turned around and ran, but the three young race officials had followed him into the room and were crowded in the doorway, looking between Draco and Potter.

He couldn't run. And he couldn't do nothing, either. Draco didn't care if Potter missed his starting time – this was his race to lose. But if he wanted to throw the race he should at least wait until the halfway point and give them some more publicity.

"Wake up, Potter!" Draco marched over to Potter's bed and stood glaring down at the top of his head. "You're late."

There was a muffled grunt coming from the cocoon of blankets.

"Wake up, you should have been up in the air hours ago!"

A rustle of blankets. Potter turned around to face Draco and opened a bleary eye. "Wha'?"

Draco gritted his teeth at the sight. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? You're wasting time! If you end up hours behind everyone, I don't want to hear a single complaint."

Potter blinked and seemed to focus on Malfoy. He rubbed one palm over his eyes, his movements still sluggish from sleep. Malfoy steeled himself.

"Malfoy," Potter mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"Waking you up," Draco snapped. "Since you're apparently incapable of sticking to a schedule."

Potter yawned. "Oh, that. You didn't need to. I'm not going."

Draco could feel his temper fraying. "Are you withdrawing from the race? Why in bloody hell would you…?"

"Withdraw? No!" Potter's next words were punctuated by a huge yawn. "I told them. I changed my mind and I'm taking my twenty-four rest now."

"You _can't_!"

Potter scratched his head and blinked up at him. "Actually, I can. There's nothing in the rules saying that I can't." He leaned closer. "I thought you knew, since you wrote them."

The idiot was smirking. And he was leaning too close. Draco took a hasty step back, nearly colliding with the trio who was listening to their exchange with great interest.

"You don't _need_ to stop for so long," Draco tried. "You're burning up your only chance of a long rest right at the start of the race."

"I know." Potter shrugged. "But I figured it would be worth it. It's still raining, isn't it?"

Of course he was doing it to avoid the bad weather. It would be advantageous for him to let the other racers tire themselves fighting the storm while he set off the next day after the storm had passed. It was infuriating because it was both smart and reckless.

Draco was livid. "You called me here just for this?" he snapped, turning towards his race officials.

The kids huddled together and mumbled something unintelligible. "The rules… We didn't know…"

"Have you had a cup of coffee yet?" Potter sat up on the bed and gave Draco a lopsided grin. "You look like crap."

Draco couldn't even remember the last time he ate or drank something. Coffee sounded heavenly – he could almost smell the strong, dark roast. "I don't want any coffee," he snapped.

"Some of the other lads made coffee before they left. Let me see if there's still some."

Pushing the blankets aside, Potter got up and padded across the room to a tiny stove in the corner.

Immediately, Draco flushed and turned around. "Merlin's… you're indecent! Put something on!"

Potter shot him that infuriating grin once more. "So sorry, I didn't pack pyjamas. I'm travelling light. You don't mind, do you?"

Draco minded very much. Potter was wearing nothing but his undershirt and pants, and seemed to think nothing of bending down to look at the stove and showing his arse to the whole world.

"Here it is! Coffee!" He straightened and held up a coffee pot triumphantly.

If he didn't stop grinning, Draco was going to have to hex him. "You're in public! Have some decency!"

Potter shrugged and poured himself a cup, then tapped it with his wand until it started steaming. A heavenly aroma of coffee started to spread. "Are you always so tetchy in the morning? More than your usual, I mean."

"I hope you fall asleep in the middle of the race and fall off your broom!"

Without waiting for an answer, Draco turned around and left the room. As he stormed down the stairs he could still hear the sound of Potter laughing into his coffee.

\---

Harry touched down at the Latvian checkpoint feeling pretty good about himself. He'd flown all night without pauses and made very good time. The sky above was bright blue, without a single cloud in sight. Waiting out the storm had been the right choice after all. 

The checkpoint was inside a ruined castle. Harry landed on one of the towers, boots splashing into a large puddle that was still drying under the morning sun. The yellow alert had been withdrawn, but Harry had gone long enough without stopping. He shouldered his broom and went looking for the camp kitchen, where the staff was cooking large cauldrons of soup.

There were no tables but plenty of room to sit on the ruined castle walls. Harry found a spot where the stone was nice and warm from the sun and started scarfing down the soup.

As he ate, he glanced around. Malfoy wasn't there. Not that Harry had expected to find him serving soup – then again, he'd been very surprised to find him working on the race at all. There were a few other racers eating or resting, but nobody Harry knew personally, and he wasn't in the mood for chatting. He concentrated on eating as quickly as he could without scalding the roof of his mouth. The soup was a simple broth with vegetables and it was very welcome after the cold high altitudes.

Afterwards he refilled his water bottle and walked a lap inside the castle walls. His knees hurt abominably but he persisted: it would be worse if he got a cramp in mid-air. As he circled back towards the tower, he nearly collided with Malfoy who was rushing out of a side door.

Malfoy looked even more annoyed than last time and Harry couldn't resist the urge to grin at him.

"Why are you still here?" Malfoy snapped. "Please don't tell me you're using up your short rest too!"

"Good afternoon to you too, Malfoy. Don't worry, I was just having lunch and I'll be going now."

"Hurry up then! I don't want to create a bottleneck, not here."

His eyes darted to the side. He looked upset about something. Harry squinted at the large pile of rolls of parchment in Malfoy's hands. They looked very important, tied with coloured ribbons and sealed with large blobs of wax.

"Is something the matter?"

"None of your business." Malfoy turned to go and a few scrolls tumbled out of his grasp. He spat a curse as one of them rolled close to a puddle of mud.

"Need a hand?"

"Sod off," Malfoy muttered. He shifted the remaining rolls of parchment in his arms, almost causing more to fall over.

As Malfoy tried to reach into his pocket to draw his wand, Harry shifted the Firebolt to the crook of his arm and pointed one hand sideways, frowning in concentration. The rolls of parchment on the ground started shaking, then slowly lifted into the air.

Malfoy lowered his wand and glared at him. "Just hand them over."

Harry did so, barely breaking a sweat, even though it had been ages since he'd used wandless magic. "You're welcome," he said, sounding only a bit smug.

Malfoy's glare intensified, then faltered. He shifted the scrolls in his grasp. "Thanks."

Harry hadn't expected that. For a moment, Malfoy didn't look hostile but rather just tired. It seemed that the race was taking its toll on everyone.

"Malfoy… Can we talk?"

The moment was gone. Malfoy didn't physically back away but it was a close thing. "We've got nothing to say to each other. I haven't got _time_."

"You know what I want to talk about."

"I neither know nor care!" Malfoy turned his head to check that nobody was around. "Just hurry up and go."

"If you could just for once–"

Without letting him finish, Malfoy shouldered him aside and strode away. Harry watched him go. Malfoy didn't turn back even once.

\---

"The Russians are being a pain in the arse again." 

Pansy sighed. "I've no doubt. But I really need that list now, or it will be too late for the evening edition of the _Prophet_."

Draco tapped his quill into the ink pot and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I know. Pass me that ledger, will you?"

She muttered a _Wingardium Leviosa_ and waved her wand in his direction. The book fluttered down on a corner of the minuscule desk, crumpling a few rolls of parchment. Draco flipped through the pages and started copying down names.

As he worked, Pansy walked around the desk to look at the list of names and notes. "Any highlights?"

The quill flew across the piece of parchment. "Nothing much," Draco muttered, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Some minor injuries, a few accidents, several dropouts…"

Pansy's nails drummed a beat on the desk. "I need something front-page worthy. How is Potter doing?"

Draco's fingers clenched, nearly snapping the quill in half. "Much as expected, I assume."

"He's still way behind." Pansy leaned over Draco's shoulder to look at the list he was copying. "People want to see him at the top, not in the bottom half."

"He'll catch up as soon as everyone else takes their long rest." That moment couldn't come soon enough.

"Maybe we can spin it into some sort of underdog victory," Pansy mused.

Draco stared out of the tiny, grimy window. He kept replaying his last conversation with Potter, and the one before. It seemed impossible, on such a large race course, that they should keep bumping into each other. And yet it seemed as if everywhere Draco went, Potter was there.

"What do you think? Draco? Hello, are you even listening?"

He blinked and tried to focus on Pansy. "What? Yes. No, I'm sorry."

Pansy stared down at him for a long moment. Then she pushed a stack of papers aside and perched on a corner of his desk. "Are you all right? You look pale. More than usual, I mean."

Draco considered lying through his teeth but eventually shook his head. "Not really. Listen, I've been thinking I should switch places with Lena. She can close the checkpoints on her own, she's very good…"

He trailed off awkwardly. Pansy was looking at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What are you talking about?"

"Not for the entire race, just for a few days." Until Potter was safely in the lead where he belonged. "Working with the cleanup crew is really tough!"

"I'm sure it is! That's why you assigned that job to yourself." She made a good point. Draco grasped for an answer. "It's not as if I have it any easier, I'm opening checkpoints _and_ sending out multiple daily press releases."

"I know," Draco huffed. "But Lena is good, she could handle it…"

Pansy snorted. "You can't be serious. You've been planning this for months: you've got hundreds of feet of parchment with plans, you've been anal about every single detail. And now you want to give up control of one of the most crucial aspects?"

Draco bit his lip. "I'm not giving it up. Lena…"

"She's good, but not that good. Not as good as you. We can't afford any mistakes and that's final."

With a sigh, Draco leaned back against his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming already.

Pansy frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He tried to go back to his list but the words swam in front of his eyes. He could feel Pansy staring at him.

"Is this about Potter?"

Pansy's voice was low, almost subdued, but it still startled Draco. "How do you know?!"

She shrugged and pretended to examine her nails. They were painted a pearlescent white today. "It's quite obvious, every time I mention his name you get jumpy. Funnily enough I remember when we were in school _you_ were the one who couldn't stop talking about Potter…"

"That's ridiculous," Draco muttered.

"…and now you can't even stand to hear his name. So? What in Merlin's name happened?"

Draco shook his head. He didn't want to say anything at all, but he'd already admitted that there was something and Pansy looked determined to get the truth out of him. Anyway, abrasive as she was, Pansy was his best friend: he could trust her enough to tell her.

When he opened his mouth, the words wouldn't come out. Flustered, Draco poured himself some pumpkin juice, balancing the goblet precariously among the stacks of scrolls and ledgers. He could feel Pansy's eyes on him as he drank deeply.

He clasped the empty goblet in his hands and took a deep breath. "I slept with him."

There was no reason to keep it from her. It was years in the past and it hadn't meant anything. But it still was excruciating to say the words at all.

Pansy just stared at him for a long moment, face frozen in a mixture of horror and curiosity. "Please tell me it didn't happen during this race."

"What?! No! It was ages ago. Back when I was looking for a job and he'd dropped out of Auror training."

He still remembered it perfectly: it had been right after he'd found out that the Ministry of Magic had rejected his application to join the Office of Magical Law Enforcement. The rejection letter had been very vague but reading between the lines it was obvious that the reason was his past conviction. He'd gone to a bar to drown his sorrows. He hadn't expected to meet anyone he knew.

Pansy still looked incredulous. "I'm sorry, I think I need a moment. You and _Potter_?"

"We were both drunk." Malfoy's voice was flat. He remembered most of that night, but not exactly how it had happened. One moment he was arguing with Potter, the next he was in his lap and they were making out. When Potter had suggested going back to his place, it had sounded like a good idea. "It was a terrible idea."

"I can imagine." Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Sleeping with Potter? _Ugh_. He's fit, I'll grant you that, but his _hair_ , and those ridiculous _glasses_ …"

Draco didn't say anything and concentrated on blocking out the memory of tangling his fingers in Potter's soft hair. His eyes had been dark green in the low lamplight. Surely it hadn't felt as good as he remembered – it was a false memory, created by one too many cocktails and a lot of regret.

"At any rate, it was years ago," Pansy went on. "Surely you can stand to be around him for a week or so. You only have to see him when he passes through the checkpoints."

"There's still thirteen checkpoints between here and Alaska!"

Pansy shrugged. "It's not a big deal. You're both adults, you had an ill-advised one-night stand, you agreed to forget about it. End of story."

Too bad Potter didn't agree. _Can we talk?_ Draco had no idea what Potter might have wanted from him. An apology perhaps, or an assurance that Draco wasn't going to hit on him in the future? If that was the case, he needn't have bothered. "I'd rather not see him at every single checkpoint."

"Tough luck, darling." Pansy rapped her nails sharply on the wooden desk. "You can't drop everything just because you're embarrassed, or ashamed, or whatever it is."

"Neither!" Draco could feel his cheeks heat up and wished he could be as cavalier as Pansy when talking about one-night stands. It was impossible. He didn't _do_ one-night stands. But Pansy wouldn't understand that. "What if it were you and one of your horrible ex-boyfriends?"

She laughed."I wouldn't like it, but if I wanted to avoid all of my exes I'd never leave the house. It's just for one week."

"A _whole_ week."

"Stop sounding so tragic. How is Potter taking it? Was he upset when he saw you?"

Potter had been surprised mostly. Draco was used to getting that reaction from everyone who knew about his past – event organiser wasn't precisely the expected career path for a reformed Death Eater. "I think he was wondering who I bribed to get this job."

"Do you think he's going to cause trouble because of your involvement?"

Draco shook his head. "Whatever he is, Potter is a professional. He's going for the win and won't do anything that hurts his chances."

"Good. Then I don't see any problems with our current situation."

"But–"

"Oh, shut up, you're making Potter look like the sensible one in the current situation! Go on and give me that list before they reach the next checkpoint."

The worst part, Draco thought as he got to work, was that Pansy was right.

\---

The skies over Kazakhstan were clear and Harry made good time, passing three checkpoints in less than a day. He crossed the border into China at some point in the night. This far east, the land was more sparsely populated, making it harder to navigate from one checkpoint to the next. 

Harry steadied his Firebolt when a strong northerly wind threatened to blow him off course. His arms ached under the strain and he started to regret choosing to push through instead of stopping near Almaty. He should be resting instead of flying at night, with hardly any city lights below to guide him. But there had been some commotion at the last checkpoint, and he'd decided to just fly through rather than risk being caught in whatever issue there was.

He wondered if Malfoy had been on the ground. From above, all he'd seen was several people in pointy hats and sky blue robes. He hadn't noticed Malfoy's blond hair, or his silver sash – not that he'd been looking for him.

Perhaps Malfoy would be at the checkpoint in Xinjiang. Harry was curious about the incident in Almaty, whether someone had been injured or forced to withdraw. He could ask any of the race officials at the next checkpoint, but most of them were locals who spoke limited English, and besides they might not know about what went on at other checkpoints, unlike Malfoy who seemed to be in charge of the entire race.

Of course, Malfoy might not want to talk to Harry at all. Harry hadn't seen him since the day before, when Malfoy had pushed him away and run off. He didn't know if Malfoy was avoiding him on purpose – Harry had spent most of the previous day in the air – but Malfoy had looked ill-at-ease to be in Harry's company. Even more so than usual.

The sun was starting to rise. As the first rays crept over the mountains at the edge of the horizon Harry brought his Firebolt to a lower altitude, where it was still night, but soon enough he was forced to give up and fly with the sun in his eyes. Blinking, he unclenched one hand from the broomstick handle and fiddled with the little knobs on one side of his goggles until the glass darkened enough to let him see.

Sunspots danced in front of his eyes. He'd been too slow to react, a rookie mistake. As if that weren't enough, he felt pins and needles in his arm. He couldn't wait to get to the next checkpoint. It shouldn't be very far now, though it was difficult to be sure of distances in this vast plains.

Harry generally liked flying over this part of the world, but he was too tired to enjoy the spectacle. Had Malfoy been busy elsewhere this past day, or had he been avoiding Harry? It wouldn't be surprising if he had, after all he'd never returned any of Harry's letters either. If Harry asked Hermione's opinion – not that he could ask her, not without telling her the rest of it – she'd tell him to stop wasting time with Malfoy.

Imaginary Hermione was probably right. But Harry still couldn't help himself, especially when Malfoy was right in front of him. It wouldn't take much. He just wanted to hear the words from Malfoy's own mouth.

Maybe he should stop thinking about Malfoy's mouth and concentrate on the landscape below. Maybe he should stop looking for trouble.

The compass was pointing a few degrees off course, the wind earlier must have blown him further east than he'd thought. Harry corrected his direction, then checked the ground again. His vision wasn't optimal between the tinted glasses and the sun straight in front of him, but he was sure that the checkpoint wasn't in sight yet. He hoped it would be soon. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and was getting more tired by the minute.

The other possibility was that he'd overshot the checkpoint completely, either by not noticing it in the dark or by flying too far east. It wasn't the end of the world. He could use the four-point spell to locate it, but he'd have to land first, which would lose him a lot of time. Of course, if he flew further away from the checkpoint, by the time he noticed it might be too late to go back. Then he might as well use one of his emergency flares and wait for the rescue team to get him. No doubt Malfoy would get a kick out of seeing him drop out because of a stupid mistake.

He _couldn't_ make a mistake, not in his last race. But as the miles went on with no signs of the checkpoint, Harry found himself looking for safe spots where he could land if he felt too tired to continue. He pushed ahead as the sun climbed higher and higher on the horizon, until his eyes kept snapping closed and he couldn't put it off any longer. If he didn't land soon, he'd be in danger of falling off his broom.

Then he saw it: a glint on the ground far away to the north. His right arm felt as heavy as lead as he fumbled with his goggles, trying to zoom in until the image in front of his eyes came into focus. A sprawl of dun-coloured tents on the ground and a large golden hoop rising above them.

Nearly limp with relief, Harry pulled his broomstick sharply towards the checkpoint. That had been a close thing – if he'd veered any further southeast he might have missed it entirely.

He lowered himself against the broomstick's handle, pushing the Firebolt at its maximum speed. As the camp came closer he could see tiny specks moving between the tents and a couple of broomsticks took off in front of him. Finally he flew through the ring and landed in the middle of a grassy field, some distance away from the tents.

Not a moment too soon. As he dismounted his broomstick he could feel every muscle in his body screaming from exhaustion. He took off his gloves and goggles with shaky fingers and stumbled towards the nearest tent.

Malfoy was standing in the middle of the small encampment, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. Likely he'd seen Harry approach, because he tensed up but didn't run away.

"About time you showed up. I was starting to think I'd have to send out the rescue team."

So had Harry. "Very funny. Keep the banter for later, I'm tired."

"You look horrible," Malfoy said with relish. "I told you not to waste your long rest right at the start."

Harry ran a hand over his face, wiping away cold sweat and grime. His stubble scratched against his palm. "So you did. But you don't look much better either." Malfoy's clothes and hair were immaculate as always, but there was a shadow under his eyes that hinted at a restless night. "Was there some problem in Almaty?"

Malfoy's jaw clenched. "It's been solved now. Go get some sleep before you collapse."

"I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care. It's going to be a bother if you fall asleep here and I have to levitate you out of the way."

Harry let out a snort of laughter. The side of Malfoy's mouth twitched, though Harry couldn't have said if he was annoyed or amused. At the moment he was too tired to care.

"I'm going to sleep." He paused, and then before he could think about it properly he added, "You're welcome to join me."

Malfoy had been about to leave. He froze and looked at Harry for a long moment, until Harry was sure he was about to run away again. This time though, Malfoy just shook his head. "Stop talking nonsense and go get some sleep, Potter."

\---

Draco made coffee. It took him two tries because he burned the first pot. His second attempt tasted awfully bitter, but then again all coffee tasted awful to him. He assumed it would be good enough for coffee drinkers. 

Almost eight hours had passed since Potter had shown up at the Xinjiang checkpoint. Draco had stayed up until the afternoon shift arrived, then grabbed a few hours of rest, tossing and turning on an uncomfortable camp bed. Then he'd given up trying to sleep and made coffee.

The coffee wasn't for Potter. He couldn't show favouritism towards any of the racers, not even in something as simple as bringing them coffee. Not that he wanted to bring Potter coffee. But he could make coffee and leave the almost-full pot on a table outside, near a pile of sandwiches. If that happened around the time one of the racers was due to leave, and if that racer happened to help himself to the coffee and sandwiches, that would be just a coincidence.

He studiously went into his makeshift office and pulled the tent flap closed. He had no intention of talking to Potter, or even of running into him. Besides, he had firecalls to make: first to the Almaty checkpoint to make sure that everything had been cleaned up, then to Pansy to proofread her latest press release. In between, he fielded questions from the other race officials who didn't seem able to keep the checkpoint running without referring back to him.

When he emerged from his office over an hour later, the flap of Potter's tent hung half-open and there was no sound of movement coming from inside. Draco wondered if Potter had managed to depart without trouble: he had looked so tired earlier, about to fall asleep on his feet. It wasn't that Draco was worried for him, but it would be no good if their celebrity racer collapsed midway.

"I don't recommend the coffee," said a familiar voice to his right. "The food is okay though."

Draco spun around. Potter stood leaning against one of the tables, stuffing his mouth with egg-and-cress sandwiches.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Draco managed to say. He fumbled in his robes for his pocket watch. "You should have left ages ago, it's already… oh." He blinked at the small silver handles on the watch. It wasn't even four in the afternoon – much earlier than he'd thought.

"Nope," Potter agreed around a mouthful. "I've got plenty of time." He took out his own watch and squinted at it. "Still seventeen minutes to go. Enough for one more sandwich and another cup of that horrible coffee."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "It's not horrible. You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

Potter shrugged and plopped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. "Bad coffee is still better than no coffee. Although I'd rather have a cup of tea, I haven't had any ever since we left London."

Draco was almost tempted to echo him with a sigh. He hadn't had tea for days either, even though he had a small stash of his favourite blend in his bag. But there never seemed to be time for it. Except now, of course, and he'd decided to make coffee instead. He must be losing his mind.

Meanwhile, the lack of tea wasn't stopping Potter from assaulting the remaining sandwiches. He did look much better this afternoon, Draco noted. His face was no longer grey and drawn and he'd gotten rid of that awful stubble. He still had deep shadows under his eyes but at least he no longer seemed on the verge of collapse.

"Malfoy." Potter took a large swig of black coffee. "About earlier–"

"There's nothing to say," Draco blurted out. He quickly looked left and right to ensure that nobody was listening. "Stop mentioning it!"

Potter frowned. "I just wanted to… Wait, what did you think I was about to say?"

Draco didn't want to think about what kind of expression he could be making. He hoped he wasn't blushing like an idiot. Each sentence came out more strained than the last. "I don't know! I don't want to know! I don't care!"

"I just wanted to ask you about Almaty!"

Draco had been about to turn around and leave. Now he stopped, one hand against the side of a tent, and felt like an ever bigger idiot. _Almaty_. Potter wanted to know what had happened at the previous checkpoint. It was a perfectly innocent question.

"I can't talk to you about official race matters." Draco stuck his nose into the air. "It's classified."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Come on, it can't be that much of a secret – I bet it's going to be in the evening news. Was it an accident? Did someone get injured?"

Draco huffed. "Just minor injuries."

"You seem almost disappointed."

"I've no sympathy for people who endanger themselves and others because of their recklessness."

He glared at Potter, but Potter feigned innocent curiosity and kept sipping his coffee. Curse him, but Draco wanted to vent. He had a perfectly good rant prepared and hadn't had time to use it on Pansy earlier.

"Can you _believe_ ," Draco said, "that three idiots couldn't agree on who should pass the checkpoint first, so they tried to fly through the ring together and crashed into it?"

Potter almost snorted out coffee. "No! And who managed to pass first?"

"None of them did! They broke two broomsticks, one arm and one ankle, _and_ one of them got stuck in the ring and had to be brought down. Don't laugh, it's serious – they tried to hex each other, I had to call the local Aurors and it was a mess!"

"I can imagine." Potter shot him a look of triumph and brushed crumbs from the front of his crimson robes. "So I was right to fly through instead of stopping."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Potter might be fit like Pansy said, but he was also a slob. "I suppose, just for once, you might accidentally have done the right thing."

"Don't strain yourself, that almost sounded like a compliment."

"To my chagrin, I must confess you're not the biggest screw-up in this race full of screw-ups." Draco resolutely didn't smile back when Potter flashed him a grin. "But don't let it go to your head. You're still bringing up the rear."

"Not for long. As soon as the rest of the pack takes a long rest, I'll catch up with them. Most of them will rest at the halfway point, I bet."

Draco wouldn't have taken that bet: he already knew from Pansy that a few racers were already resting at the two checkpoints in Mongolia. "If you want to catch up to them," he said instead, "you'd better not fall asleep on your broom again."

"Hilarious. I didn't fall asleep."

"You looked completely knackered. It's just like you to do five checkpoints in a row without sleeping."

"It was just three," Potter replied, as if _that_ were much better.

"All the same." Malfoy huffed. "If you don't rest and eat regularly, you won't last until Alaska."

"I _know_. This isn't my first intercontinental race."

"The fact that you _know_ it doesn't mean you're _doing_ it. Do you think you can win if you continue like this? Pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion?"

"Yes! I know my limits! What's it to you, anyway?" Potter turned aside and started tugging on his gloves. "Do you care that I'm at the back of the pack?"

"It would be rather enjoyable under different circumstances. As it is, I can't wait until you catch up to the rest of the group so I'll finally be rid of you."

Potter frowned and shot Draco a strange look that he couldn't fathom. Perhaps he didn't understand. Perhaps he thought Draco was everywhere during the race.

"I'm closing the checkpoints." Draco spoke slowly, as if speaking to an idiot, which Potter was. "It means you only get to see me if you're losing, genius."

Potter gave him a long look, then tossed back the last few dregs of coffee. "Yet another reason to win this, then."

\---

Harry flew past the first checkpoint in Mongolia without stopping. The tiny circular encampment was crowded with racers who had all chosen to stop at the same time and it seemed like a good place to pass them. 

By then, Harry had been flying for several hours already, but he was still feeling in top form after a solid eight hours of sleep. Or, rather, almost eight hours. He had spent some time talking with Malfoy. Two entire conversations in which Malfoy had been almost civil – positively charming, in fact, for Malfoy's standards.

Harry mused over each brief exchange as he flew over a landscape of grassy hills. He'd been so sleepy when he'd arrived at the checkpoint, he didn't even remember most of what he'd said. It occurred to him suddenly, and he jolted upright on the Firebolt. Yeah, _that_ had happened.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked Malfoy to sleep with him, not even as a joke. At least Harry hoped that Malfoy understood that it was a joke. And, really, Harry had been so tired, he wouldn't have been able to do anything but sleep.

Not that Malfoy was interested in sleeping with him. Malfoy wasn't even interested in _sleeping_ sleeping with him. He was especially not interested in _sleeping_ sleeping with him.

Harry frowned. Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up, but he was tired of the way Malfoy kept looking down his nose at him, like he hadn't at one point in the past plastered himself to Harry and begged for his cock.

The stars shone bright above, making it easy to navigate even without a compass. It was a good thing, since Harry was finding it hard to concentrate. Usually he tried not to think about shagging Malfoy, but there was no denying that if given the chance he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Even though it was a terrible idea. It was a good thing that Malfoy was very much not giving him the chance.

Malfoy hadn't been unwilling that other time – far from it. But they'd both been drunk. If they hadn't, Harry doubted Malfoy would have gone anywhere near him, except perhaps to hex him. He'd been quick enough to leave after sobering up, anyway. Pity that there was no alcohol on the race.

It was almost dawn by the time Harry admitted to himself that that was part of the problem. If Malfoy didn't want to sleep with him while he was sober, he had no interest in getting Malfoy drunk. He just wasn't sure that his dick agreed. Good thing that flying a broomstick was not compatible with jerking off or he might embarrass himself.

Hermione would tell him that he was looking for trouble. Malfoy was by far the most ill-advised of Harry's long list of ill-advised one-night stands. And yet, he was the one Harry couldn't stop thinking about. He swooped low over a mountain and blinked as the sun got in his eyes. That night he'd been so drunk he barely remembered what happened. Had the sex really been that amazing or was it the alcohol speaking?

Had it been anyone else, Harry was sure he could've solved that mystery easily with a second, less drunken fuck. Merlin's balls, even if it was Malfoy, Harry had tried to do just that – he would even have apologised about the whole drunk sex thing, even though it was Malfoy's fault as much as his.

Malfoy however preferred to ignore him and act like nothing happened. That was fine too, Harry told himself. He could just put the incident out of his mind and forget it had even happened. Too bad it had been three years and he was still thinking about it.

\---

Mongolia had the worst Floo Network ever. Draco gave up trying to talk to Lena through the fireplace and floo'd back to the Ulaanbaatar checkpoint to see what the Chinese and the Russians wanted now. 

He ought to be furious that he was wasting time pandering to bureaucrats, but all he felt was relief he wouldn't run into Potter at the next checkpoint. Things had gotten too strange. Potter was either trying to flirt or making fun of him by pretending to flirt, and Draco didn't know which option would be worse. Even more disturbing, though, were the times when he'd been tempted to flirt back. No doubt the lack of regular sleep was affecting his faculties.

By the time his meeting with the ambassadors wrapped up, it was late afternoon and Potter was already en route to the second and last Chinese checkpoint. Draco sent Pansy a note with the updated placements, knowing she'd get a kick out of Potter catching up with the group. It was good news all around: the race would get more publicity once the _Prophet_ ran yet another article about Potter's amazing comeback, and Draco would get to avoid Potter from now on.

His good mood didn't waver through all the afternoon, even though he had to send out search parties to retrieve a group that had gotten lost in the steppe. How one could get lost in a flat and empty grassland, he couldn't even begin to fathom, but he didn't care. Better a hundred lost racers than another conversation with Potter.

At the end of the day, Draco noted that over half of the participants had already dropped out. It wasn't a record: twice in its history the London-Nome had no winners because nobody had managed to cross the final stretch across the Bering Sea. But the current race was shaping to be a particularly tough one, and that seemed to make the remaining racers even more competitive and reckless.

Even though he was nodding off, Draco refused to go to bed until the last racer had safely reached Beijing. The race had been cancelled seventeen years ago after an incident involving a careless racer and a Muggle fireworks festival, and Pansy was superstitiously afraid that something would go wrong.

However, as the hours slowly went by without any further incident, Draco started to breathe a sigh of relief. All their careful planning, choosing checkpoints away from all local festivals and coordinating with the local magical law enforcement agencies, was paying off.

He was starting to think he could let the night shift handle the last few stragglers and get a few hours of sleep when Lena approached him with a message clenched in her fist. One look at her face and he knew that his chances of a nap had just vanished.

"What now?"

"It's the Russians again. I'm sorry."

Draco broke the seal on the scroll with a nervous gesture. "Don't apologise. It's not your fault that they're all arses." He scanned the message and got as far as the second line before crumpling it in his fist. "I need to go. You're in charge."

"Is there a problem?" Lena asked, but Draco was already storming away towards the nearest fireplace.

He tapped his wand against the coals until a flame flickered into life. "Close everything after the last racer has left. Then head to the next point." He threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fire, much more than needed, and the fireplace exploded with green flames.

Lena called out another question, but it was drowned out by the rush of fire as Draco stepped into the flames. "Vladivostok race checkpoint," he called out in Russian. He'd been assured that the international Floo Network also worked with English, but he'd rather not risk that.

The journey seemed to take forever, with flashes of light and images passing in front of his eyes, until Draco thought he'd be forever stuck in a fireplace somewhere in Asia. Or perhaps he'd mispronounced the name of his destination and he was being sent to the far end of the world. Finally his journey came to an abrupt end and Draco stumbled into a dark and dusty kitchen.

The Russians had forbidden the race to make camp outside, so they had placed the checkpoint inside an old Soviet military base. Draco's footsteps echoed in the cavernous corridors as he strode towards the main hall. As he walked, he went over the little speech he'd prepared in his head. He reminded himself that he couldn't antagonise the Russians, no matter the provocation. He would remind them of the agreement that they had, and–

Draco's head jerked up as he heard loud voices shouting from inside the hall. It couldn't be. And yet with each step he could hear it more and more clearly.

"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE, I KNOW MY RIGHTS. I'M A BRITISH CITIZEN!"

Draco slammed the door open. "Potter! What the fuck have you done now?"

Potter spun around, glaring. "About time you showed up. Tell them to release me." He jerked his head towards the two tall people flanking him.

The Russians wore the severe uniform of Russian Aurors, tight-fitting black robes with padding that made it look rather like an armour. When Draco entered, they turned their matching scowls from Potter to him.

Draco forced himself to take a deep breath. " _Dobryy vecher_." That was the extent of his Russian, so he switched to English and hoped those two would be able to follow. "I'm Draco Malfoy, one of the organisers. I'm very sorry that this racer is causing problems. What's happening?"

The male Auror glared at Potter. "My name is Snetkov, this is my colleague Aliyena," he said in heavily accented English. "We are arresting this person for bringing a forbidden item into the country."

"What in Merlin's name are you doing now, Potter?"

"They think I'm a smuggler! Tell them it's nonsense!"

It was nonsense. Potter was many things – full of himself, loud-mouthed, infuriatingly attractive even with scruffy hair and stubble – but he certainly wasn't a smuggler. Draco however doubted he'd win any points with the Russians by being so blunt.

"What has he allegedly smuggled?"

"Oh, _come on_ , you can't possibly believe them," Potter snarled. "It's ridiculous!"

Draco glared at him, willing him to shut up. Hadn't he trained to be an Auror? Didn't he know that, when one was in trouble with the law, the last thing to do was antagonise the people with the power to arrest him? Perhaps this was why he'd never become a full-fledged Auror.

At the moment, the Russians looked very inclined to lock Potter up and throw away the key. Aliyena jerked her head towards the back of the room. "He had _that_ with him. That is not allowed."

Draco took a good long look and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "He had his broomstick with him?"

" _Da_. That is not allowed."

"It's a bloody broomstick race," Potter snarled. "What do you think–"

"Shut up," Draco hissed. He forced himself to smile. "Madam Aliyena, there must be a… misunderstanding." A bloody huge one too. "How is it illegal to fly a broomstick into the country?"

The woman sniffed and took out a booklet from her pocket. "It's not on the list." She thumbed through the pages. "These are all the approved broomstick models. _His_ is not on the list."

"Ridiculous," Potter muttered again.

Draco was tempted to echo him. It took him a few moments to settle for a reply that didn't include the words 'gross' and 'incompetence'. "As I said, I believe this is a misunderstanding. We talked with representatives of your government to ensure that the race would be allowed to pass through Russia."

Extensive, interminable talks, which seemed pointless since it seemed the central government hadn't bothered to inform local officials.

"The race can pass," Aliyena said. "He and the broomstick can not."

"I flew in and out of Moscow four days ago and nobody stopped me!"

"Then you should have been stopped in Moscow."

Potter spun around to face Draco. "I'm wasting time! I would have been over the Sea of Japan already if they hadn't flagged me down."

"We have an agreement with Minister Smirnova," Draco told the Russians. "It includes special provisions for broomsticks. Racer Potter, like others, flies a modified one-of-a-kind model that won't be on any list.

Aliyena and Snetkov exchanged a look and a few muttered words in Russian, then stared at Draco.

Draco forced himself not to blink. _Were_ there any specifics about broomsticks in the agreement they'd signed? He wasn't so sure. There had been many more important things to negotiate than broomstick models.

"We work for the OMP," Snetkov said eventually. Potter looked blank, but Draco nodded – the Otdel Magicheskogo Pravoporyadka was in charge of Russian magical law enforcement. "Minister Smirnova is in charge of Sports, unrelated to us. We will have to ask our own direct supervisors."

Draco was about to nod again. He turned and caught Potter's eye.

"This will lose me the race!"

He was right. They wouldn't be able to get a reply before morning, and by then Potter would be far behind the group with little chance of catching up. Draco shouldn't care. He _didn't_ care if Potter lost due to his own stupidity. But this was his race, and he'd be cursed if he let any racer lose due to a random official's pigheaded decision.

"I'm sure you appreciate this is a timed race and the delay would be most inconvenient. If you let Potter depart, I'll be happy to go over the documents with you and your superiors."

" _Nyet_. First we check. If he's allowed to – then he leaves."

Potter looked frantic. "If you don't let me go now–"

Draco put a hand on his arm to hold him back. "Very well then, we shall do as they request."

"Malfoy, for fuck's sake!"

Draco could feel the muscles under Potter's skin, corded with tension. He hoped Potter wouldn't try to hex the Aurors; the last thing he needed was a brawl.

"Let me take care of this! Please," he added, turning to Aliyena and Snetkov. "I wouldn't want you to suspect our racers of any wrongdoings."

"Good," Aliyena snapped. "We will contact Head Auror Yashkin and arrange for him to review your case."

Draco nodded. "Please do. Meanwhile, I'll firecall Minister Smirnova at once to let her know of the situation."

The two exchanged a glance. "It's the middle of the night."

"To be precise, it's four in the morning." Draco glanced at his pocket watch. "I do hate to disturb the Minister at home, but last time I saw her she asked to be informed at once, should there be any problems with the race."

Draco tilted up his chin and gave the two Russians a long look. He hoped they wouldn't realise that his hands were trembling. He'd met Smirnova in person a grand total of once: she'd said hello, goodbye, and to go through her office for any additional requests.

She wouldn't want Draco to disturb her at home in the middle of the night. He didn't even know how to contact her directly. If the Russians called his bluff and he ended up pissing off Smirnova, the entire race, not just Potter, could be in jeopardy. Draco swallowed.

"Malfoy…" Potter said again.

The two Aurors exchanged a look. "It's fine," Aliyena snapped. "We don't want Minister Smirnova to be disturbed. We'll alert the OMP about this infringement, but your racer can go."

Potter was nearly shaking. "My broomstick?"

"You can take it. Snetkov, let's go."

" _Spasiba_." Draco tried not to show his relief too openly as the two marched out of the room without another word.

Draco still had one hand on Potter's arm. He quickly dropped it. "Let's go before they change their minds."

Potter was already running his hands against the wood of the broomstick and checking the bristles for damage. "Malfoy, you–"

"Come on!" Draco opened a side door on the opposite wall from where the Aurors had left. "A shortcut to the ring."

Potter nodded and shouldered his Firebolt.

They hurried through the door and down a long corridor that had once led to the barracks. The corridor was unlit but Draco didn't pause. The Muggle lamps on the ceiling were long broken and the tall windows on the right side let in enough moonlight to see by.

Their footsteps echoed in the silence. They were halfway through the corridor when Potter said, "Thank you."

Draco, who was a few steps ahead, paused and turned around. Potter also stumbled to a halt. He took the weight of the broomstick off his shoulder and started massaging it.

"Don't thank me." Draco's words seemed too loud in the empty corridor. "I'm just doing my job." He took a good look at Potter and shook his head. "When was the last time you slept? You look awful."

Potter grimaced. "Yesterday."

"Where?"

"Mongolia. Maybe China."

"Did you take a full eight hours?"

"Just a nap. I don't want to waste my last chance of a rest."

Draco sniffed. "No need to sound like a martyr. It's your fault for wasting your twenty-four hours right at the start."

"I didn't _waste_ it. Avoiding that storm gave me a huge advantage and I'll catch up with the front runners soon enough."

Draco didn't disagree with that estimate. Almost all the racers had taken a long rest already and the first racers were just seven or eight hours ahead of their current location.

"Do you think you can reach Sapporo with no sleep?"

A muscle moved in Potter's jaw. "I have to. I lost too much time already."

"You should rest. You look awful."

Potter glanced up at him. "So do you."

They were too close. Suddenly the large corridor felt suffocating. Draco leaned forward, closed his eyes and crashed their mouths together.

Potter exhaled against his lips before pulling him into a harsh kiss.

"Malfoy…" he said when they broke apart.

Draco shut him up with another kiss, pushing his tongue against Potter's. He tangled one hand in Potter's hair, angling his head for better access. The kiss deepened. After three years, kissing Potter was every bit as intoxicating as he remembered and he didn't want to ever stop.

Potter was the first to break away. He stood panting, inches from Draco's face, running gloved fingers along Draco's cheekbone.

Draco wanted to beg him to stay. He ached for Potter to take off his gloves and touch him skin to skin. He knew Potter would never stay, not now. If it were any other way, he wouldn't have initiated this.

They didn't say anything, just turned away and hurried outside towards the golden ring, Draco's heartbeat loud enough to drown out all other sounds.

\---

The Sea of Okhotsk shone almost black in the light of the setting sun. Harry could see the island with the checkpoint in the distance, a dark speck on the horizon. 

It was about time. He'd been buzzing with adrenaline when he left Vladivostok but that had been hours ago. Now every one of his muscles ached and he fought to keep his eyes open. More than once he had to correct his course because he was being blown off track by the strong winds. He couldn't afford to make mistakes like that, not on the open sea.

Harry slowed down as he approached the island, not wanting to crash against the checkpoint's ring. The winds were strongest over the rocks ringing the island and he struggled to keep his Firebolt steady.

The landing area was lit with lanterns but nobody was around when he landed. He hoisted the Firebolt on his shoulder, wincing at the screaming pain in his deltoid, and stumbled towards a low wooden building on a promontory. It was the only structure he could see, and as he approached he could hear voices and noises coming from inside.

He pushed the door open. Inside, the room was crowded with people either sitting on every available surface or rushing around. The chatter was almost too loud now, dozens of voices talking in a multitude of languages, sometimes yelling from one side of the room to the other.

In the middle of the chaos, Malfoy stood stock still, staring at the door. Harry groaned and shut the door behind him. At least he hadn't run away as soon as he saw Harry. Progress.

"Potter…" Malfoy's eyes darted around the room. "I– we didn't expect you so soon."

"I had a tailwind most of the way." Harry had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the din.

"I suppose you'll be wanting something to eat."

Harry suppressed a yawn. "Right now I just want a bed."

Malfoy flinched, a brief gesture that Harry noticed only because he'd been looking out for it. "A b… Yes. Wait."

He motioned to one of the race officials – a round-faced girl Harry had met somewhere in Europe – and they started talking, with Malfoy growing more and more annoyed at the official's responses.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, stepping closer so he could hear the conversation. Malfoy shot him a nervous look, even though Harry had stayed well out of his personal space, and besides had no intention of kissing him in front of a room full of people.

The girl looked between Harry and Malfoy and bit her lip. "Er. We have a bit of a problem, there's no beds left–"

"We don't have a problem!" Malfoy snapped. "Just wait a moment and we're going to find a place."

Harry looked at the people filling the room. Some of them were sitting or sleeping on makeshift cots on the floor. "Are those all racers?"

"Some of them are from the search and rescue teams," the girl said. "An entire group missed the checkpoint and got lost."

"Is everyone safe?"

"As far as we know. There are still a couple of racers unaccounted for."

Malfoy shrugged. "I've got people looking for those bloody idiots. They'll be found soon enough, safe and sound after wasting people's time."

Harry hoped that was true; it was already full dark outside.

"How many people have you got in the search party?"

"That's none of your business, Potter." Malfoy huffed and turned to the girl. "Come on, Lena, there must be some place where we can put him. What about the common room?"

She shook her head. "The floor is already covered with futons. The staff room is also full, and they're sleeping two a bed in there."

Harry closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "Look, if you can't find a bed for me, I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Who says I can't?!" Malfoy snarled. "You're not going to sleep on the floor. You look horrible, you need a proper rest or you'll never reach Alaska."

"It's no big deal…"

"Have you stopped at all since… since the last time we saw each other?" It seemed to Harry that there was a faint blush on Malfoy's cheeks. He wished he had his glasses so he could see his face properly. Before he could reply, Malfoy shook his head. "Of course you didn't, otherwise you wouldn't be here so soon."

"Same goes for you, you look even worse than last time. Don't _you_ have a bed?"

Lena was following the conversation with great interest. Malfoy turned to her. "Thank you, Lena, you can go. I just thought of a solution."

She went, shooting Harry one last curious glance from over her shoulder, and Malfoy motioned for Harry to follow.

They made their way across the floor, stepping around piles of broomsticks and discarded bags and people in various states of exhaustion. A sliding door led to another room full of sleeping people. It was dim in there and Malfoy murmured a quick 'Lumos' to light their way. There must have been a silencing charm on the door because, when Harry closed it behind them, the noise from the entrance became muffled.

Malfoy was walking faster now, striding towards the back of the room, and Harry's legs complained as he rushed to keep up. At the back of the room there were several wooden screens, each painted brightly with animal motifs. Malfoy ducked behind a screen painted with cranes.

At first, it seemed to Harry that there was nothing behind the screen, just the wall. But, when Malfoy lit a lamp on the wall, the space seemed to bend and stretch until he was standing in the middle of a small, empty room.

Malfoy waved his wand in a wide circle. "Step aside, Potter."

Harry barely had time to move out of the way. A large canopy bed appeared out of nowhere and landed with a 'thud' on the wooden floor. It had silky green bedsheets, was almost as large as the room, and to Harry's tired brain it was the best vision ever.

He dropped the Firebolt and his bag in the corner and sat down with a satisfied groan. " _Finally_."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're welcome. Now get some sleep, the last thing I need is more racers getting lost."

Harry stretched out on the fluffy mattress. It felt heavenly. "Yeah," he mumbled, already half asleep. "You get some sleep too."

"I was going to," Malfoy snorted, "but my bed is occupied."

"Can't you just make another one?"

Malfoy made a disgusted noise. "Did you ever pay attention in Transfiguration class? I can't _make_ something out of nowhere."

"But this…"

"I simply moved it from storage."

"Hold on." Harry's eyes snapped open as realisation dawned. "This is your bed. You're giving me your bed."

Malfoy's face clouded. "So what? It isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter?"

"That's not–" Harry pushed himself up on an elbow. "Malfoy, I can't take your bed! Where are you going to sleep? Can you get to another checkpoint?"

"I have to stay here in case those missing racers are found. Stop acting like it's any of your concern."

"Excuse me from feeling involved, but since you're giving me your bed–"

"Don't try to read any meaning into it!" Malfoy snarled. "I'm in charge of the race, I saw an issue, I solved the issue. End of story. I would have done the same for any other racer."

"I wasn't going to," Harry began, but Malfoy was already walking away. Harry sighed. The bed was very large and comfortable, and he couldn't wait to get several hours of good sleep. "Wait. Do you want to share the bed?"

Malfoy turned around and stared. "No?" He made the reply sound like a question, like he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Harry didn't blame him; he too could hardly believe what he'd said.

Harry should stop wasting time and let Malfoy go. "Come on, it's large enough for two. Or do you think I'm going to try something?"

Malfoy looked horrified and glanced over his shoulder. "You better not. But all the same, I'm not sharing. I can sleep somewhere else."

"No, I should sleep somewhere else." Harry pushed himself upright with a grimace. "You should sleep in your bed."

When Harry made as if to get to his feet, Malfoy bodily pushed him back.

"Don't you dare get up, Potter."

"You need sleep more than me."

"Debatable."

"Stop being so pig-headed about it!"

" _Fine_!" Malfoy pointed a finger at Harry. "But if you do anything funny, I'm going to hex you."

Harry shrugged. "The only thing I want to do is sleep."

Now that Malfoy had agreed, Harry felt self-conscious. He sat down on the edge of the bed and busied himself with unlacing his boots. From one moment to the next he expected Malfoy to change his mind and leave.

After kicking off his boots, Harry tossed aside his cape, then he took off his sweater. He glanced at Malfoy, who was in the process of fastidiously folding his outer robe. Only a few days ago, Harry had no problems walking around in his underwear in front of Malfoy. Now it was different.

Harry didn't know if it was because they'd be sharing a bed, or because of the kiss, or if it was a combination of both. All he knew was that the idea of removing any more of his clothes made him feel exposed.

Malfoy muttered a spell under his breath. Harry looked up just in time to see Malfoy's clothes turn into pale silk pajamas.

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

"Nothing."

Harry took his wand and waved it over his clothes experimentally. Instead of the pajamas he was hoping for, he got a softer, woolen version of his regular clothes, but he was too sleepy to try and mess around with the spell any more.

Malfoy was still hesitating at the foot of the bed. Harry ignored him and got in, turning towards the wall and throwing the covers over himself. A minute passed before he felt the other side of the mattress dip.

"You still have your name and number on the back of your pajamas." Malfoy's tone was flat. "Did you mean to do that?"

Harry didn't answer. After a few moments the light of the lamp dimmed, until Harry could barely see the outline of the pillow.

Malfoy fell silent, even though from his breath Harry could guess that he was still awake. As for Harry, he could barely keep his eyes open. What a waste. He could finally spend the night in the same bed as Malfoy, and they were both too tired to do anything about it.

Even though they were being very careful to stay on their separate sides, Harry would just have to roll around and stretch out one arm to touch Malfoy. How would Malfoy react to that? Would he run away or would he hex Harry? Or would he kiss him like he'd done the other night? Harry wasn't going to find out: his limbs already felt too heavy to move, and soon enough he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

\---

"Mr Malfoy! Mr Malfoy, please wake up!" 

Draco's first thought was that he hadn't had nearly enough sleep and whoever was waking him up would pay for their actions. His second thought was that he'd gone to sleep next to Potter. He jolted awake and tossed back the covers, sitting bolt upright.

Next to him, Potter was still snoring peacefully, for all intents and purposes dead to the world. Nothing had happened between them – how anticlimactic. Lena hovered next to the bed, clearly torn between curiosity and nervousness. The nervousness won out.

"Please, Mr Malfoy, we have a situation and I'm not sure what to do."

"Of course." Draco's throat felt scratchy, but he was proud that his voice didn't waver, like everything was normal and he hadn't been caught almost spooning with his nemesis. "First calm down and tell me what's going on."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "A racer reported seeing red sparks a few miles to the southeast. I thought it could be our missing people sending a distress signal."

"Could be." Draco suppressed a yawn. "Send a patrol to check."

"That's just it," Lena replied. "The patrols went out a couple of hours ago but they headed further west. Madam Atsuki said something about the direction of the wind, she thought the racers might have been blown towards the mainland…"

"We've got to have at least one search and rescue team on hand."

Lena hesitated. "There's a couple of people, but they just came back after an all-nighter and I didn't want to disturb them without checking with you first. Shall I wake them up?"

"How far away were those sparks?"

"Sixty or seventy miles, from what the racer said. I checked the map and there are a few islands in that direction – rocky outcrops, really, they're not even on Muggle charts. But it's a possibility."

With a sigh, Draco kicked away the sheets and got to his feet. His pocket watch let him know it was some time before five in the morning. Likely it was just a false alarm, but on the off-chance it wasn't…

"I'll go and take a look."

"You?!"

Potter's voice was rough with sleep, but the disbelief in his tone rang clear enough. Draco turned around. Potter was looking at him over his shoulder, his eyes shining green and gold in the lamplight, at the same time grumpy and still half-asleep.

"This is a private conversation, Potter," Draco said in what he hoped was a measured tone.

Potter ignored him. "You're not trained in search and rescue and the winds around this archipelago are dangerous."

Lena was now blatantly staring at the two of them. Draco glared back at Potter. "It may surprise you to learn that I didn't get this job solely because of my wit and good looks. I do have _some_ qualifications."

Potter snorted in disbelief and shook his head. He had the worst case of bed hair Draco had ever seen in his life.

Draco looked away and slipped out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor. "I'll be ready to go in ten minutes. Lena, get me my broomstick. Go back to sleep, Potter," he added without turning back.

It was still dark outside, but a few lamps on the wall gave enough light to see by. Draco made his way to an empty bathroom and splashed copious amounts of cold water on his face in an attempt to fully wake up. Too few hours of sleep only served to make him want to go back to his warm bed.

He stared at his own reflection as he shaved, noting the dark, bruise-like circles under his eyes, feeling just as awful as Potter had said. Potter's other words also echoed in his mind. It was true he didn't know the first thing about search and rescue, but he just needed to fly by the area to check whether the missing racers were there.

For a moment, he debated asking Lena to come along. But he didn't know if she was any good on a broomstick and he'd rather not be responsible if anything happened. Killing a staffer would create tons of problems for the race, not to mention Draco had grown rather fond of the girl.

Draco left the bathroom shaved, dressed, and ready to go out on his own – and found Potter in the common room.

"About time," Potter said around a mouthful of sandwich. "I had time to get breakfast waiting for you to get ready."

Draco stared. Potter was back in his racing gear and had his broomstick propped next to him. He'd even made an attempt to comb his hair, even though, if Draco hadn't seen him beforehand, he would have assumed that was bed hair.

"You're up early," Draco said. He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing the people sleeping on camp beds and on the floor of the room. "There's still a couple of hours until your short rest is up."

Potter snorted. "Don't be an idiot. I'm coming with you to check on those missing racers."

"No, you're not!"

"You might need backup! Red sparks mean severe distress."

"Thank you, I know the international signal codes. But I'm just going to see if we need to send the search and rescue team – and _you_ can't go anywhere until your rest is over."

Potter poured himself a cup of tea. "Actually, I _can_. I assume you meant to stop people from skipping their mandatory rests, but the rules only forbid continuing towards the next checkpoint. There's nothing stopping me from wandering off during the rest period as long as I'm back after the eight hours are up."

Draco was furious both with Potter for finding the loophole and with himself for allowing it to exist in the first place. He'd have to rewrite the rules – after he took care of the more pressing issues. He snatched the teapot from Potter and poured himself a cup of tea, frowning at the pale liquid.

"There's only green tea," Potter confirmed. He gave his own teacup a mournful look.

Draco took a sip and wrinkled his nose at the strong, bitter taste. "You're not coming with me. You can't just wander off in the middle of a race."

"I've got plenty of time before my short rest is up."

"You should be using your rest time to _rest_." Draco summoned some sugar with a sharp snap of his wand and poured several liberal spoonfuls into the cup. "You're not coming with me."

Potter snorted into his tea. "And how do you think you'll stop me?"

Bodily restraints sounded like a good idea at the moment. "This will put you at a disadvantage. You're tiring yourself out just before the last segment."

"I'm not tired now that I've slept."

Potter sounded sure of himself, but Draco noted the slight hesitation, the way his eyes darted sideways. How Potter's shoulders were slumped and he was leaning heavily against the side of the table. He pressed his advantage. "What if it costs you the race?"

"What if there's an emergency? What if you need backup?" Potter glared at Draco over the rim of his mug.

Damn Potter and his Gryffindor chivalry. And damn his stupid belief that he was indispensable, as if Draco hadn't managed perfectly well up until now.

There was no more time to argue. Draco tossed back the rest of the tea, scalding the roof of his mouth, and wrapped himself in his cloak. Outside, the frigid night air nipped at the exposed skin of his face. Only a few lanterns here and there broke the darkness near the house, but as they approached the ring the area became brightly lit.

Lena was waiting for them outside near the landing area, with Draco's broomstick under one arm and a map of the area in the other. She didn't seem surprised to see Potter.

"This is where the racer said he saw the sparks." She pointed to an area of the map circled in red, angling the map towards the light. "The crosses are the areas that were already searched. As you can see, several groups flew over the area yesterday without finding anything."

"They might have reached the islets in the night," Potter said. "If they got lost over the open ocean–"

"Thank you for your unnecessary opinion," Draco snapped. "Need I remind you that I'm in charge and you're as always nosing in on something that's none of your business?"

"Need I remind you that I'm the one with hundreds of flights under his belt?"

Draco fished out a couple of necklaces from his pocket – simple cords with bauble of blown glass – and tossed one to Potter. "Wear this. It's to talk while we're flying, although in your case I'd rather have something that shuts you up."

He slipped the cord around his neck and tucked the bauble safely under his robe. Potter gave his a curious look, then did the same.

Lena handed Draco his Nimbus 3000. "If any of the teams wake up before we're back," he told her as he mounted the broom, "tell them to wait here. No sense for any of them to go out until we know for sure that someone needs rescuing. We'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy." Lena hesitated. "What if you're not back by then? What shall I do?"

Draco refused to think about the possibility of himself needing help. "We'll be back."

He kicked hard against the ground and took off, the island growing smaller and smaller underneath him. After a few moments, Potter followed. The two of them hovered above the checkpoint, a bright golden dot in a sea of darkness.

"Don't wander off," Draco warned. "The incantation has very limited range."

"All right." Potter's voice sounded too close, as if he were whispering in Draco's ear. Draco flinched with every word. "You know which direction is southeast, right?"

Draco didn't deign that with an answer and silently steered his broomstick that way, flying as fast as he dared against the strong ocean winds. Potter followed him close.

The sky was still dark, but the full moon gave them enough light to see by. Under different circumstances it might have been a peaceful journey. Even though they were both silent, Potter's presence was difficult to ignore. There was nothing but the two of them above miles and miles of empty sea; the thought made him sweat in a way that had nothing to do with the chill of the air.

They stopped after fifty miles, and then again after sixty, so Draco could perform a spell to locate any racers in the area. Both times the spell pointed to Potter alone.

"Maybe my presence is confusing it," Potter said after the second attempt.

"That's not it, it doesn't work that way." Draco glared at the single gold thread sprouting from the tip of his wand. "If they were here, the spell would show it. They must be out of range."

The two of them flew farther out, following the semi-circle formed by the tiny islands of the archipelago. With each passing mile, Draco doubted they would find anyone at all. They were too far from the race course already. They ought to start thinking about doubling back, or Potter would be late for his departure time.

"Do you see that?"

Potter stopped in mid-air and Draco had to double back.

"That islet?" Draco tried to figure out where Potter was pointing at. It looked like an empty rock in the middle of the sea. "What about it?"

"I think I saw movement."

"Are you sure?" Draco could barely make out the profile of dark rocks against an even darker sea and sky. "I can't see anything."

"I'll check."

Without waiting for a reply, Potter pointed down the handle of his broom and dove towards the water. Draco muttered a curse and started circling down at a less breakneck speed.

"Merlin's sake, Potter, try not to kill yourself! Do you have any idea how much paperwork–"

"I found them!"

Throwing caution to the wind, Draco sped down. His cape snapped around him. He could barely make out Potter, zooming back and forth in front of a tall cliff. "Where…?"

Draco trailed off. The three missing racers were crouching on a rocky outcrop halfway up the cliff. Two of them seemed unconscious but the third saw them approach and started yelling for help.

"Hold tight!" Draco called to him. He tried to fly closer but the wind was too strong and he struggled to keep his broom from clashing against the cliff face. Dismayed, he turned towards the man. "Just wait, we're going to send help."

"Please! We've been here for hours!"

Having completed a circuit of the islet, Potter approached Draco. "We can't just leave them here, they're exhausted! What if they fall?"

Draco's eyes scanned the barren landscape. "We don't have other options, we can't bring three people back on two brooms. If they were on solid ground we could Apparate them, but as it is I can't even get close to that cliff!"

"I can."

"What?! No!"

Draco watched, his heart in his throat, as Potter flew recklessly close to the rocky face of the cliff. The winds buffeted him back and forth and the waves crashed almost under the soles of his boots.

"Potter! Come back, you moron!"

"Can you fly?" Potter called out to the man on the cliff.

Draco tried to inch closer to hear the reply. This low, he could smell the sea as it crashed on the rocks below. He caught snatches of the racer's answer.

"…can't… no broom… crashed…"

"Okay." Potter's reply was crystal clear through the amplifying charm. "I'm going to transport all of you to safe ground above the cliff."

"Potter, don't do anything crazy," Draco yelled. "You're the one who said we're not trained in search and rescue."

Potter's face was stern in the moonlight. "This is an emergency," he said, low enough so that only Draco would hear. Then, louder, he called out, "First I'll need your help to lift the other two onto my broom."

"No!" the man replied. "I want to go first!"

"I won't be able to lift your friends without help!"

Draco had to fly perilously low to hear the reply.

"They're not even my friends. I saw their distress signal but when I came over to check I crashed on the rocks! Please, you have to take me, I don't know how much longer I can hold on."

"For Merlin's sake, man, this is Harry bloody Potter," Draco yelled. "He's going to do something stupid to save all three of you, so you better do as he says!"

There was a pause, broken only by the waves crashing on the rocks. "Harry Potter?" the man said in a much more hopeful tone.

"I'm going to fly as close as I can," Potter called. "You help me lift one of those lads on my broom."

Draco could only watch as Potter flew up to the cliff, battling the wind, and helped move one of the unconscious racers from the narrow rock ledge.

As soon as the man was securely onto his broom, Potter kicked away from the cliff face, the Firebolt sagging under the combined weight of two men. Draco held his breath until Potter landed safely on top of the cliff.

On his way back down, Potter paused next to Draco. "He's splinched. In a bad way."

Draco swore under his breath. "We won't be able to Apparate him back to the checkpoint."

"No. And he looks like he needs a Healer – quickly. Are _you_ going to be of any help with the other?"

Draco wanted to, but looking at the cliff looming ahead he was petrified by fear. It was hard to think of a suitably witty reply when he was shaking like a leaf. Before he could think of anything but weak denial, Potter was already gone, hoisting the second racer on his broom.

"Hurry!" the man on the cliff called out. "This piece of rock is going to fall down!"

Draco felt like a useless lump, hovering at a safe distance while Potter saved the day. "Don't worry, you'll be back on solid ground in no time at all."

"I felt it give!"

Potter was almost back.

"If you just–"

It happened too fast to think. One moment there was a man standing on a ledge halfway up a cliff. The next moment there was a rumbling sound and man and rock plummeted towards the sea.

Potter dove, but Draco was closer. His eyes filled with tears as the wind whipped his face. He couldn't reach the racer and the rocks below were too close. They were both going to die.

Draco's outstretched hand managed to snatch the back of the racer's cape. The added weight threatened to sink them both. Draco struggled to regain control of his broom as the wind blew him against the rocks.

That was it, Draco thought. So close, but not enough. Then Potter was at his side lifting him once more into the air, taking the weight of the racer from Draco's arms. Draco was too dizzy to think. He let Potter guide him to the top of the cliff, where the wind was not as strong and it was safe to land.

Draco landed gracelessly and stumbled off his broom with legs that were not quite steady. He tried to take a few steps towards Potter and the other racers, but everything around him was swaying. His legs collapsed under him and he fell down on the rocky ground.

"Malfoy!"

Draco blinked owlishly as a bright light flashed close to his face. Potter helped him into a sitting position; if it wasn't for his arm around his shoulders, Draco would have fallen down again. He felt too dizzy to stand.

"Malfoy, you're bleeding!"

Potter ran his lit wand over Draco's side. Draco blinked and looked down: his robes were torn and streaked with grime on his right side, where he'd crashed against the cliff, and a rivulet of blood ran down his arm. The fabric was already stained crimson.

Draco cursed softly under his breath. It looked serious, but he was still too rattled from everything that had happened to feel the pain. All he wanted at the moment was to go to sleep.

He struggled not to slip into unconsciousness. His tongue felt thick in his mouth when he tried to speak. "The others?"

"Two of them need a Healer. The one you caught seems okay. Malfoy, look at me, don't you dare fall asleep!"

"I'm fine," Draco mumbled. He glanced over Potter's shoulder at the shapes of the other racers lying on the ground. "Can you Apparate back to the checkpoint?"

Potter nodded. "Yes, I remember the location. Let's get you to a Healer and send search and rescue for those three."

Draco swallowed and glanced between Potter and the other racers. "You can do Side-Along Apparition?"

"Of course I can."

Of course he did. Bloody show-off. Draco pressed his palm against the wound to staunch the blood flow and gritted his teeth. He wanted nothing better than to take Potter's proffered hand and go. They were miles and miles away from civilization and he was bleeding out, when he could be safe and sound at the checkpoint in a matter of moments.

"Take the other man."

Potter blinked. "Are you sure? You're bleeding."

Draco looked down at the dark ground. "He's hurt too, and he was on that cliff for hours – he's probably starving and dehydrated."

"But – I don't know this place well enough, I won't be able to Apparate back after I leave."

"Just tell search and rescue where to find us. It won't take long for them to arrive."

It would take them only an hour or so, Draco figured. A whole hour on this forlorn piece of rock while he bled out, alone save for two unconscious people who might be dying or dead.

Draco didn't want Potter to leave, but he couldn't see another solution to their current predicament. The two splinched men couldn't Apparate anywhere in their condition, and there was no way he could suggest Potter take him back and leave three racers stranded here. He was the organiser – these men were his responsibility.

He almost hoped Potter would object and drag him away by force, taking the choice away from him. When Potter let go of him and got to his feet, Draco nearly fell down again.

"All right. You, what's your name? Come on, we're leaving."

Draco watched as Potter hurried over to the other racer, collecting his broomstick along the way. All the while he hoped Potter would turn back, but Potter seemed to have made up his mind. He grabbed the racer's arm and the two of them Disapparated with a resounding _crack_.

Draco clutched his injured arm and curled on the ground, staring blankly at the spot where the two of them had stood.

\---

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. There was an argument going on on the other side and, even though it was too muffled for him to make out the exact words, he could guess what it was about. 

He'd almost dozed off when a wooden partition slid open and Pansy Parkinson strode out, muttering something under her breath about stubborn idiots.

"Can I go in?"

Pansy stopped in her tracks, startled, and shot Harry a very curious look. She hesitated before answering, but eventually she nodded back towards the partition. "Suit yourself."

Harry brushed past her, pulling the partition closed before she could say anything else.

He'd expected to find a bedroom, but the tiny space looked more like an office, or perhaps a storage room. The walls were panelled with shelves and the floor was almost completely occupied by towering piles of books and huge china vases full of scrolls.

Malfoy sat at a low table. He was scribbling something, frowning in concentration as he tried to hold the quill with his injured hand. His head stayed low when Harry walked in, although he did grip his quill more tightly. "For the last time, no, I'm not going to! I don't care that he–"

"Hello, Malfoy."

The quill dropped from his fingers as Malfoy looked up sharply. "What in Merlin's name are _you_ doing here?"

Harry moved his weight from one foot to the other. It was awkward to stand over Malfoy, so he summoned a cushion and sat cross-legged in front of the table. "Good to see you're back to your annoying self."

"You haven't answered my question."

Harry shrugged. "It's not as if I've got anywhere else to be."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to hex Harry or possibly stab him in the eye with his quill. "Have you completely forgotten about this small thing called _taking part in a race_?"

Harry hadn't forgotten. In fact, he'd spent the last several hours being painfully aware of the fact. Every minute he stayed still put him further and further behind – but, at this point, a few minutes more or less wouldn't make a difference. He shrugged.

"You can still make it." Malfoy pulled a large map in front of them, struggling to open it with one hand. "The front runners are only a few hours ahead of you and your broomstick is the superior one. You still have a chance to catch up with them if you leave now."

"I don't." It was painful to say the words out loud, but there was no point denying it. "You were right – I tired myself out, and now I'm too far behind to catch up."

Malfoy let go of the map. It snapped closed and rolled sideways on the desk. Harry caught it before it fell off the side.

"Then I'll repeat my earlier question: what are you doing here? If you're going to quit, you can talk to any of the officials. I'm busy."

Harry hadn't expected a warm thank you, but he bristled at Malfoy's dismissive tone. "Is that all you're going to say? After I…" He trailed off, biting his lip.

"I didn't ask you to _throw the race_!" Malfoy snapped. "You were supposed to send back help, not– not lead the rescue yourself!"

"I know."

"Nor sit around for hours after your rest time ended!"

"I _know_!"

"Don't think this means I owe you anything, because it doesn't!"

They were both leaning forward and glaring at each other across the table.

"You think that's why I'm still here?"

"I think you've got a hero complex." Malfoy's tone became mocking. "You act like everything would go to pieces if you weren't around – and you love to play the martyr. _Boo hoo, I lost the race_. So what? I don't care!"

Harry snorted. "At least I'm not a coward like you."

Malfoy flinched at those words. "That's rich, when I just risked my life to save a man."

"I don't mean that." Although it had been impressive – Harry hadn't thought Malfoy had it in him. "I'm talking about how you keep running away whenever I try to talk to you."

"Nonsense." Malfoy's eyes darted around, avoiding Harry's stare. "You're the one who keeps badgering me for no reason."

"No reason–!"

"Get a clue already, Potter. I thought I'd made myself abundantly clear."

"Actually, no, you haven't!" Harry leaned forward on the table and Malfoy shrank back. "That's the whole fucking point. How am I supposed to know anything if you won't even talk to me?"

Malfoy's shoulders were literally against the table. "That's because I've got nothing to say to you." His voice was a shadow of his usual condescending tone.

"Not good enough. If you want nothing to do with me, tell me to my face." Harry wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer – Malfoy seemed ready to tell him to get lost – but it would be better to know for sure. Then at least Harry might be able to stop obsessing over the meaning of brief conversations and stolen kisses in the dark. "Tell me and I'll go."

Malfoy hesitated. "Why do you care so much, anyway? It was three years ago. Can't you get over it already?" He glared and, when Harry didn't reply, he snapped, "I'm not going to apologise! You're as much to blame as me for what happened."

He tried to cross his arms in a defensive stance but winced when the movement jostled his injured arm.

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded, trying to process his words. "You think I want an apology?"

"What _else_ could you want from me?"

With a snarl, Harry shoved the table aside and knocked Malfoy to the floor, pinning him down. Malfoy gave a yelp and stared at him with wide eyes. "You're an idiot," Harry told him, stern, and kissed him.

Malfoy went stock-still for just a moment before kissing him back, tangling his hands in the back of Harry's cape, pulling him closer. Harry cradled the back of Malfoy's head and deepened the kiss. Their tongues tangled together and Malfoy made a soft noise in the back of his throat that went straight to Harry's groin.

They only broke apart when they were both out of breath and gasping for air. Malfoy's chest rose and fell with every shaky breath; he was still wide-eyed and his lips were red and shiny.

Harry would have kissed him again, but when he lowered his head Malfoy put his hands on his shoulders and held him at bay.

"We can't. This is a bad idea – _we're_ a bad idea."

They were so close, their breaths were mingling together. Harry wondered if it was possible to die from frustration.

"You don't know until you try. I'd rather try than give up – always."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Always?"

It took a moment for Harry to understand his meaning. He hesitated. "The race… I'm hours behind. It's a very long shot."

"So is the idea of you and me."

Harry stared at Malfoy. Proud, stubborn, insufferable Malfoy, trying so hard to make excuses. "If I leave now, are you going to run away again?"

Malfoy licked his lips.

Harry took his good wrist, running his thumb along the line of his bones. "Are you?"

Malfoy exhaled. "You'll find me at the finish line."

"Is that a promise?"

Malfoy nodded. They were almost nose to nose. "You'd better do your best. I'm not interested in losers."

His tone was almost teasing. Harry wanted to push him down on the floor again and kiss him senseless. He didn't. He couldn't, not yet.

"I should get moving, then."

\---

They stumbled into Draco's cabin together. Potter didn't even wait for the door to slam behind them; he grabbed Draco by the front of his robes and hauled him close. 

"You lost," Draco mumbled against his lips, but it was only a token protest. He pressed himself to Potter. The closing ceremony had lasted forever.

Potter was already reaching blindly for the buttons at Draco's neck. He smirked. "I still made the podium."

" _Barely_." Draco wished he didn't sound so breathless.

The buttons snapped open and Draco's breath hitched as Potter slid a hand under his shirt. Potter kissed him, licking into his mouth and swallowing his gasps.

Despite the chill in the cabin, Draco's skin felt scalding hot wherever they touched. Draco fumbled with the clasp that held Potter's cape and tossed it aside, then ran his hands down Potter's muscular back. His heart beat faster at his own daring as he palmed Potter's arse with both hands. Potter growled as the movement pressed them even closer together.

There was a bed in the other room but Draco didn't think they could make it that far, not when Potter started pressing biting kisses to the underside of his jaw and to his exposed neck. Potter's teeth scraped against Draco's pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark. Draco had to bite his lips to stop himself from crying out.

It was too much, after too many years of nothing. Potter's touch was rough and demanding as he pushed Draco's robes down his shoulders. Draco wondered how many others there had been for him. Certainly he went around more than Draco did, at least if the gossip pages of the _Prophet_ were to be believed. At the moment it didn't matter, though, not as Potter stripped him with ruthless efficiency and kissed him within an inch of his life.

Draco's shirt joined the rest of their discarded clothes on the floor. Potter ran his hands up Draco's bare sides and Draco couldn't stop a shiver when Potter's thumb brushed over a nipple.

Potter paused and lifted his head. "Cold?" His voice was an octave lower than usual.

Draco shook his head – he didn't trust his voice not to waver. He whimpered at the loss of contact when Potter turned aside and started searching his pocket for his wand.

"Incendio!" Golden and orange flames started dancing in the large fireplace that took up almost an entire side of the cabin. Potter dropped his wand and took Draco's hand, drawing him down on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Draco let himself be pressed against the quilted fabric. The firelight threw the lines of Potter's face into sharp relief as he stared down at Draco. Draco tangled one hand into Potter's hair and kissed him again, hungrily. His other hand fumbled with Potter's belt.

Draco's fingers brushed against the front of Potter's pants and Potter let out a low moan. Draco smirked and bit down on his lower lip; he cupped Potter through the his clothes and felt him harden under his palm.

When Draco started jerking him off through his pants, Potter shuddered and closed his fingers around Draco's wrist. "Stop it." His grip was like a vise but his voice was unsteady.

"You don't like this?" Draco smirked against Potter's lips and brushed his thumb, slowly, along the line of Potter's cock.

"Yes. But I'd rather come inside you."

It was Draco's turn to shudder. "Do– do you want that?"

Potter pressed one knee between Draco's legs. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark green with gold flecks in the dancing firelight. "Yes. Do you?"

Draco very nearly choked on the word. " _Yes_." He ground against Potter's knee, searching for friction, and gasped when Potter pressed against his hard-on.

They hadn't done this last time – they'd both been too drunk for anything more complicated than a messy handjob. As Potter stripped him down to nothing, Draco felt only too aware of the situation. This time there would no blaming it on the alcohol. They were both stone-cold sober and there had been plenty of moments where they could have stopped.

Draco couldn't stop, though. Especially not when Potter tossed aside the last of his clothes and bent down to press a trail of kisses over his collarbone. His thumb brushed over Draco's nipple. Draco's back arched off the ground and he had to bite back a groan.

Potter lifted his head briefly and flashed him a smirk before taking Draco's nipple into his mouth.

"Don't," Draco moaned, even as he clutched to Potter, holding him close. "I thought you said you… You wanted to…" _To fuck me_. He couldn't say the words. Just the thought made him flush scarlet.

Maybe it was the heat of the room. It was really quite warm now in front of the fire – or maybe it was the way Potter was licking a path down Draco's chest and past his navel. Draco's eyes snapped shut when Potter's lips ghosted over his erection. He felt Potter push his legs wide apart and clenched both fists into the rug.

The first tentative touch against his hole made Draco cry out. He opened his eyes just in time to see Potter duck his head and _lick_ him. Potter's tongue pushed inside the tight ring of muscles, opening him up, and Draco's toes curled at the sudden red-hot stab of pleasure. Draco turned his head to the side, trying to muffle his moans into the rug.

Everything felt too hot. Looking down, Draco could barely make out Potter's dark hair, where he was pressed against the curve of his arse. Potter gripped Draco's thigh and spread Draco's legs even wider. Draco wondered how it looked to Potter – with Draco sprawled under him, squirming with pleasure – and felt himself flush even more. Then Potter's tongue curled inside him and he couldn't think any more. His mind was blank except for a constant stream of _please please pleasepleaseplease_.

"Almost," Potter said. His teeth scraped against the soft skin where thigh met hip.

Draco hadn't even realised that he'd been talking out loud, and at this point he wasn't inclined to care. "Hurry." It came out as a low whine.

He would have said more, but Potter slid two fingers inside him and all breath went out of him. Potter's other hand went to his hip, to hold him down as again he tried to arch off the rug. His cock was a solid ache on his stomach. Draco palmed himself, biting back gasps at the touch.

"Just– just do it." Draco could feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He didn't know how much longer he could last. "I want– you."

Potter exhaled. He pressed his fingers deeper inside Draco and the touch made Draco moan again. Then the fingers withdrew, leaving Draco empty and thrusting against nothing.

" _Malfoy_." Potter settled himself between Draco's knees and grabbed his hips hard enough to leave marks. There was no warning before he pushed himself inside.

The feeling of being broached was almost overwhelming. Draco cried out as Potter slid inside, one burning inch at a time.

"Hey." Potter stopped. Draco realised he'd been clinging to his back hard enough to leave marks with his nails. "Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't stop," Draco managed to say. It hurt, but it also felt so good. Potter's cock was so much thicker than his fingers and each thrust hit that spot deep inside Draco that made him see stars.

Potter rocked against him. Draco's head fell back as Potter braced one arm against the rug and moved into him at a brutal pace. Draco's cock was leaking copious amounts of precome over his stomach. Draco reached down and started stroking himself, messy and uncoordinated, unable to keep the same rhythm as Potter's thrusts.

Potter reached down and covered Draco's fingers with his own, moving up and down along his length. Their eyes met. "Malfoy…"

Draco could barely heard the rest. His whole body tensed up as he came with a muffled cry all over his hand and stomach. Potter stroked him to completion, until his touch was almost too much and Draco was shaking in his arms.

Potter would have withdrawn then, but Draco wrapped one leg around Potter's waist. He looked up at Potter. "Inside me," he managed to say and Potter growled low in his throat.

It didn't take long, only a few more thrusts. Potter came in hot spurts deep inside Draco, moaning nonsense into his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time as their heartbeats slowed down and their breaths returned to normal. Draco's limbs felt too heavy to move and he felt the two of them might be too tangled to ever break apart. Potter's weight was pinning him to the floor and his leg was still curled around Potter's back.

It was comfortable, in front of the fire, despite the increasingly cold wet spot spreading under them. Draco blinked and watched the light from the flames dance over Potter's skin, painting him in tones of gold.

"What's going to happen next?" Potter slid one hand down Draco's side. His voice was low, but when Draco met his eyes, his stare was intent. "Are you going to avoid me for the next three years?"

Draco turned to the side. The stickiness on his skin was starting to feel itchy. He disentangled himself from Potter, who was clinging to him as if he'd turned into a human octopus. Barefoot, Draco padded into the bathroom, where he did his best to wash with water that remained chilly despite his warming spells.

He examined himself critically in the tiny oval mirror over the sink. Potter had left red marks all over his neck and chest; each one was a stark reminder of Potter's mouth on his skin. Draco saw himself flush scarlet in the mirror and quickly turned away.

Potter was poking at the stained rug when Draco returned. He got to his feet and stretched, shamelessly, as if he weren't completely naked. Draco had the feeling that Potter wouldn't have minded if he stared, quite the opposite, and had to force himself not to.

Then, for the first time since they'd stumbled through the door, Potter hesitated. "Can I go to the bathroom or are you going to leave while my back is turned?" His tone was light but he was staring at Draco very intently.

Draco affected a casual shrug. "I'm not going anywhere."

Potter gave him a very long stare before disappearing into the bathroom. While he was gone, Draco vanished the stains on the rug and stretched back in front of the fire. His clothes were still lying in a messy pile somewhere on the floor but he didn't feel like dealing with that just yet.

The warmth and lingering bone-deep satisfaction were making him drowsy. He fought to keep his eyes open: he couldn't sleep, or else Potter would be the one who left while his back was turned.

Draco had almost dozed off when Potter pressed himself to his back. His hand brushed up Draco's chest. Draco turned around in his arms and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips, which turned into a deep kiss as Potter tilted back his head and licked into his mouth.

Potter tasted like peppermint. Draco pulled back, already panting. "Did you steal my toothbrush?"

"I duplicated it." Potter rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I left yours untouched on the sink."

Draco settled with his head on Potter's biceps. "You could've asked," he said, but there was no bite to the words. He felt very comfortable and warm, half-draped over Potter as he was.

It occurred to Draco that for the first time in eight days he wouldn't have to stay up for most of the night or run around solving problems. He hadn't planned to stay in Alaska for longer than strictly necessary, but the place was proving to be more attractive than expected. He thought he might stay for a couple more days, depending on the company.

"So, anyway, Potter." Draco addressed a point on Potter's chest and strove for a casual tone. "What's your plan after your spectacular loss? Is it true you're going to retire?"

Potter exhaled, his breath tickling Draco's cheek. "I was going to, if I won. Now? I don't think I can quit just yet."

"Do you think you can win next year?"

"I'm sure I can win next year. I was in the lead until, you know, things happened."

Draco glanced up at those words. Potter didn't sound accusing, just deep in thought, and he was staring down at Draco. It occurred to Draco that he'd never actually thanked Potter for his help on the cliffs – he would have died if it weren't for him – but before he could find the right words Potter kissed him and the moment was gone.

"Hope there won't be any accidents next year."

Draco mumbled his assent and tangled their legs together.

"Speaking of – is this going to be a problem? Next year?"

Draco frowned up at him. "What's going to be a problem?"

" _This_ ," Potter replied, as if that explained anything. "If I'm going to compete and you're still one of the organisers."

"Of course I'm going to be one of the organisers." It wasn't as if Pansy could find anyone who would do a better job. "As for you, I assume you're going to be a pain as always, but I'm used to that."

Potter poked him in the ribs. "That's not what I meant. Is it going to be a problem if we're…" He trained off, searching for a word.

Draco's eyes went wide. "You mean… oh." He hadn't thought about him and Potter one year from now. Except for what might happen in the next couple of days, he hadn't thought ahead at all. He hadn't considered that in a year's time he and Potter could be – what? Boyfriends? Secretly sleeping together?

"You didn't run off this time." Potter shrugged one shoulder. "I figured that was a good sign."

Draco would have run there and then, if the two of them hadn't been tangled together. "One year is a very long time." His throat felt dry. "Plenty of time for you to get bored and find a new fling."

Potter frowned and leaned in, then turned around and pinned Draco to the floor. "Is that what you think this is? A fling?"

"Isn't it?" Suddenly Draco's heart was beating too fast.

"You're the one who gave me the cold shoulder for the past three years. You tell me."

It seemed to Draco that Potter's heartbeat had quickened too. He wrapped his arms around Potter's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. Draco moaned, low in his throat, as Potter moved over him. Next year was too far away – he could only think about the present, about Potter murmuring his name against his lips.

"Malfoy. Wait." Potter pulled back, breaking the kiss, and Draco nearly arched off the floor trying to follow him. " _Draco_."

Draco blinked up at him, only too aware of his ragged breath and rapidly rising chest. He clung to Potter's shoulders and tried to pull him into another kiss.

Potter remained annoyingly out of kissing distance. "Just so you know." There was a long pause as he looked down at Draco, his face scrunched up as he searched for words. "This can be a fling if you want. But I was sort of hoping you'd stick around this time."

His face was half in shadows and half lit by the dancing flames. Draco didn't know what to reply – he wasn't sure he knew how to form coherent words any longer. He looked into Potter's stupidly gorgeous green eyes and nodded.

The corners of Potter's eyes crinkled as he flashed a boyish smile and leaned their foreheads together.

Draco closed his eyes and clung to Potter as if he were falling. "Just for a little longer."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/137451.html).


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